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SPRING HILL COLLEGE
MOBILE, AL 36608
Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2012 with funding from
LYRASIS Members and Sloan Foundation
Spring Hill Quarterly
VOLUME I DECEMBER, 1938 NUMBER 1
"SO SHORT THE ECHO . . ." (short-story)— Caldwell T. Delaney 7
THE PAN-AMERICAN CONGRESS (essay) F. Taylor Peck 10
ON CONSIDERING THE HAZY FUTURE
(verse) Stockman O'Rourke 12
ROGER STODDART, C.S.A. (short-story) David Loveman 13
QUATRAIN: TO AN OLD LOVE (verse) Stockman O'Rourke 15
THE NEGRO MUSE (essay) Thomas F. Sweeney 16
INTERLUDE: A VIGNETTE (essay) Stockman O'Rourke 19
ALL IN A NIGHT'S WORK (short-story) Autry D. Greer 20
HAVE A DRINK? (short-story) Edward Balthrop 23
THE CHURCH AND DEMOCRACY (essay). .Stockman O'Rourke 29
. . . THAT MARK OUR PLACE (one-act play) F. Taylor Peck 32
TO A FLIRT (verse) Stockman O'Rourke 35
PRESS GLEANINGS _ _ 36
THE SPRING HILL QUARTERLY is published in December, February, April, and June
by the students of Spring Hill College. Subscription: one dollar the year, thirty cents
the copy. Address all communications and manuscripts to THE SPRING HILL QUAR-
TERLY, Spring Hill College, Spring Hill, Alabama. Entered as second class matter
under a temporary permit, December 22, 1938, at the Post Office at Spring Hill, Alabama.
spring HtU QPuarferlg
G. STOCKMAN O'ROURKE, '39
Managing Editor Business Manager
JACK T. HALLADAY, '39 AUTRY D. GREER, '40
John L. Bacon, '40 Edward Balthrop, '40 F. Taylor Peck,
Alfred 0. Lambeau, '41 Caldwell T. Delaney, '41 David J. Loveman,
Paul V. Byrne, '39 Thomas F. Sweeney, '39 Edward W. Leslie,
N. C. La Fleur, '40 Frank B. Rauch, '41 John De Ornellas,
John L. Mechem, '41 Frank Kearley, '42
Charles A. Isaac, '39 Redmond J. Reilly, '40
Prologue To What?
With high hopes, slender
means, and great ambitions —
thus begins the staff of the first
strictly literary publication ever
undertaken by the students of
Spring Hill College. What the
future will bring, how many of
the hopes and ambitions will be
realized, are things no man can
tell. But this, at least, can be
said: the original inertia has
been overcome, a beginning has
been made, and the Spring Hill
Quarterly is on its way!
The Quarterly aims to be a
magazine by and for the stu-
dents. The editors are convinced
that there is no lack of writing
ability among the students and
they hope to be convinced there
is no lack of interest. In fact, it
is their fondest hope that they
will be snowed under with liter-
rary contributions for the next
Comes the time now when we
celebrate an event beside which
all mundane happenings pale
into insignificance and fade into
the background. Once more we
take pause to give special ven-
eration to the Prince of Peace —
Appearing for the first time
during this holy season, the
Spring Hill Quarterly is espec-
ially happy to wish its readers
and friends the best of Christ-
mases. From the editors and
staff to students, faculty, par-
ents, and all friends of Spring
Hill goes that familiar greeting:
Merry Christmas and a happy
Population In Retrograde
A survey released by the Bu-
reau of the Census indicates that
the United States will reach its
maximum population by 1940. In
view of the sanguinary predic-
tions made by statisticans only
a few years ago that the United
States would not reach the sat-
uration point of population for
another century, this is indeed
startling information. Adequate
reasons must substantiate this
reversal of opinion.
The reasons, we think, are not
hard to find. During the economic
crisis of the depression years
there was a general shift In out-
look. Whereas the United States
had formerly been regarded as
the land of promise where hope
of bettering one's condition was
ever present, a new attitude
gradually came to the fore. With
the crumbling of the economic
order bringing in its wake wide-
spread unemployment, industrial
strife, and the collapse or shrink-
age of many a business enter-
prise, a definite fear seized the
country. The government step-
ped in and interfered. It used
extraordinary means to combat
extraordinary conditions. But
with recovery in sight it con-
tinued to create work by arti-
ficial means and continued to
put people on relief. Consequent-
ly, the defeatist attitude of the
depression years still lingers be-
cause the government refuses to
allow men to better their own
condition by their own effort. A
restoration of the old ideal, the
spirit of expectancy and hope,
will do much to revive confidence
in this land of opportunity
whose resources, far from being
exhausted, remain at the dispo-
sal of world markets.
In the second place racial sui-
cide or birth control, to which
may be added the million an-
nual abortions, is doing more
than its share to stabilize and de-
crease population. The foremost
American advocate of contracep*
tion, Mrs. Margaret Sanger, is
after all these years of adverse
propaganda, alarmed over the
declining birth rate. Her reac-
tion is strange indeed since the
underlying purpose of her move-
ment could have led to but one
end — a marked reduction in the
number of births.
A return to sanity, therefore,
is evidently essential if the pop-
ulation decline of the United
States is to be stopped and the
normal expectation reached.
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SPRING HILL AND
SPRING HILL STUDENTS
TO THINK OF US
AS FRIENDS !
THAT'S THE WAY
WE THINK OF
The Greer Stores
"So Short The Echo . . ."
An Incident from Spring HilVs past
By Caldwell T. Delaney
" A ND SO, my friends, the fat of France has come to
£\ tempt the palate of America; which only goes to
prove that the Bishop was right when he said that al-
though Spring Hill may not rival Fountainebleau in gran-
deur, it has surpassed her in extravangance."
Adolphe Batre gazed lovingly at the huge dish before
him and a ripple of laughter ran down the long table to
Bishop Portier who sat enthroned in a great high-backed
chair at its foot. His round, cheerful face and ready
wit had come to be a necessary part of any celebration
on the Hill since he had begun work on his beloved col-
lege and had moved out from Mobile to see that no detail
of the construction escape his notice. His avowed oppo-
sition to the frivolity of his gay French neighbors only
made him the more welcome at their feasts and their
friendly quips at his expense were usually parried with
the greatest vigor.
This was a special occasion, though, so the good Bishop
held his tongue. For Adolphe Batre, the most lavish host
of all that lavish society, was celebrating his own birth-
day in true regal style. The nickering light from massive
silver candelabra played upon the shimmering white ex-
panse of the table and glinted from jewels at ladies'
throats. Behind the host his dusky butler stood frozen
at attention. All eyes were upon Adolphe and the ob-
ject of his admiration.
And truly it was worthy of admiration, a culinary mas-
terpiece straight from France. There in its frosted nest
quivered the greatest pate de foie gras the world had
ever known ! Fifteen pounds it had weighed when it left
Paris, ordered especially for the occasion, and Adolphe
was proud of it.
At last he tore his fascinated gaze from his treasure
and began to speak again. "My friends, Napoleon himself
never feasted on such a scale as this . . . " But, lost in
the ardor of his praise, he failed to see one of his guests
arise quietly in the shadow and leave the table.
It was Colonel Raoul who stepped through the long
window and crossed the moonlit veranda to lean against
a pillow and gaze pensively down into the garden. Why
did the mention of Napoleon still affect him that way?
It was all over, Austerlitz, Elba, and St. Helena — all his-
tory. And yet it was hard to forget those glorious days
when he led the advance guard in the escape from Elba.
He closed his eyes and the gay laughter from the dining
room faded into oblivion. Old faces and familiar places
crowded into his memory. He saw again the Little Cor-
poral's face as he cast his lot in exile with the man who
had made him a count and a colonel in the army of
France. Then came Waterloo and the abyss. Fame, for-
tune, even homeland were snatched away from the little
band who had been faithful to the end. Even now the
thought made him shudder.
The flight to America, Mobile, Demopolis, were no less
vivid. Now he could laugh at the enthusiasm with which
the gay French officers and their fragile ladies had laid
out their "City of the People" and planted the vine and
the olive in a New World wilderness. Even those dreary
days when he, Count Raoul, ferried rough pioneers across
the muddy Tombigbee while his beautiful wife, the for-
mer Marchioness of Sinbaldi and lady-in-waiting to the
Queen of Italy, cooked flapjacks for them on the shore,
were amusing now.
He smiled and another burst of laughter brought his
thoughts abruptly back to the party inside. Perhaps those
dark days had not been so bad after all; for were they
not all united again at Spring Hill, their "City of Ref-
uge"? Fontainebleau they had named it for Napoleon's
palace where the Old Guard had met to bid their exiled
Count Desnottes was with them now, the same one
Napoleon had singled out to embrace for them all on
that sad occasion. And so was Cluis, and Chaudron, and
the Marquise of Almavaldi. The Baron de Vendel was
there, a fugitive of the court of Louis XVI, and Penier
was there, who had voted the same Louis' death. De Lage,
banished by Louis XVIII, had entertained Lafayette when
his grand farewell tour of America brought him this way.
The Little Corporal was gone; Louis Philippe was on
the throne. Yes, Spring Hill was as near as they would
ever come to Fontainebleau again. He sighed and turned
back into the room.
Adolphe was still holding forth upon the virtues of his
prize while his discouraged guests gazed helplessly from
one to another. But now the Bishop was rising with a
twinkle in his eye, and a hush of expentancy fell over the
table. In his most solemn manner he addressed his en-
"If I might interrupt, Adolphe," he began, "I would
say that the time has come for the dead to bury the dead
and the living to save the living from starving." He
chuckled gently at his joke and smiled benignly upon
the grateful guests. "I am sure that the rest of your speech
will keep until tomorrow and that it will be willingly
In the laughter that followed Raoul arose to offer a
toast. A smile played about his lips as he raised the fragile
glass. "Then, sons of France," he cried, "starving sons
of France, drink to Spring Hill, the City of Refuge ; may
the future be glorious and may the past never die!"
By P. Taylor Peck
AN event that may mark the opening of new era in
inter-American cooperation and security occurred in
Lima, Peru, on December 9, when the eighth Pan-
American Conference convened. Unfortunately, it must
remain a conjecture, for the nations of South America
are not entirely in accord with the political and economic
policies of the United States. It is ironical, perhaps, to
find that the president of Peru is for all practical purposes
as dictatorial in his own ways as his Fascist-models in
Europe. President Oscar Benavides is said to be quite an
admirer of Signor Mussolini.
However, the governments of South America are not
without cause for their hesitancy in cooperating with the
policies of the United States. Too often has the United
States disregarded the sovereignty and sentiments of
those nations, and the implication that Latin-American
states were satellites under the sway and direction of tKis
government has aroused no end of resentment and hos-
tility. The United States had long considered that those
primitive territories to the south were exclusive fields
for American capital and commerce to exploit. Washing-
ton felt an unpleasant, not to say sickening, jolt when it
began to realize that these primitives were economically
potent within themselves. In addition, these prospective
customers of North American products were being more
and more drawn into trade with European nations whose
political philosophies made them doubly dangerous.
Another pillar of American foreign policy that has
cast a deadening shadow on inter-American relations is
the much-debated Monroe Doctrine. In the past this doc-
trine, because of its strict unilateral manifestations, has
been an irritating factor in diplomacy. The positions taken
in the interpretation of the Monroe Doctrine by Presidents
Cleveland, Theodore Roosevelt, Woodrow Wilson, and
Coolidge differ radically from the "good neighbor" poli-
cies of the present administration, and the present con-
ference should see a greater separation between the past
and present concepts of the meaning of the Doctrine. •
The present flow of world affairs makes the conference
at Lima especially interesting and of paramount signifi-
cance, for that European power which has been and is
the disturbing element in Central Europe, is also that
country whose aggressiveness in Latin-America has twice
led it to attempt an overthrow of the state in Brazil, and
whose commercial relations with Mexico, especially in
relation to the recently confiscated oil properties, have
left the State department shaken and annoyed.
The uncertainty regarding the strength of the govern-
ment of Brazil and its permanence in office has created
a relative insecurity in the policies of her immediate
neighbors, especially Argentina, who like Brazil has
strong affiliations of a European nature, and cannot en-
ter into any binding alliance that might call for action
against Brazil, as her own safety would be endangered.
A general alliance, though very impressive at the outset,
would probably find itself in the same status as other
anti-war pacts when they cease to be of immediate use
and threaten danger.
What, then, can be hoped for from this eighth Pan-
American Conference at Lima, Peru? Primarily, the most
certain of results that will be permanent is the anticipated
gradual reduction of tariffs between all the American
countries, with the final goal being the abolition of all
tariff and an equality of treatment in commerce. This is
most desirable as it can bring an increased prosperity to
both the North and South American countries, thus hin-
dering to a great extent the oppression-philosophies of
Fascism and Naziism, either from Europe or from Asia.
Secondly, an extended program of inter-American cul-
tural and educational exchanges, consisting of literature,
art, and the like. Also, an improvement in tourist service,
and a greater exchange of students between the great
universities of North and South America. Nothing will
hasten the cementing of friendly diplomatic relations as
will an understanding of the problems, policies, and peo-
ple of Latin-American nations.
Thirdly, but by no means the least important, will be a
lucid and definite definition of the foreign policy on the
part of the United States, regarding inter-American re-
lations. Likewise, it should show that the United States
is willing and able to administer this revised policy. Then,
if the purposes of our government are understood, and
we gain the respect and trust of the neighbors of the
South, there shall be some basis for the building of a firm
and determined peace in these two Americas.
On Considering The Hazy Future
As I gaze dimly at dark days ahead
And feel the breath of Time upon my heels,
My fearful heart an awesome numbness feels
As if some cool and cruel voice had said :
"O, best to leave mute Fate's tight scroll unread
Lest seeing what the tortured page reveals,
Your half-felt doubts congeal as it unreels
More frightful scenes than ev'ry present dread."
Yet still my soul such numbing doubt disdains
Well knowing things that give me strength to stand
In spite of heart half-sick with future banes.
Faith, hope, and courage, too, shall soothe all pains
Until dread fear shall loose its clammy hand —
But yet, alas, some faint deep doubt remains.
Roger Stoddart, C.S.A.
An imaginary correspondence of Civil War days
By David Loveman
Outside Nashville, Tenn.
Dec. 26, 1864 — Past midnight.
To my dear wife, Lucy Stoddart
Murfreesboro — Nashville Pike
God alone knows if this will ever reach you. I pray
that it will, and yet, because I must pour out my heart
to you, I'm loath for you to know the burdens of sorrow
and despair that rest upon me.
It is bitterly cold, for we dare not light the fires. The
wind sweeps in from the Cumberland and the bare trees
against the sickly moon are frightful. We are all a part
of a tension that hovers about us like a vulture — black
and sinister — and I am filled with dread of the future.
We have received word that Thomas will attack from
the city at dawn, and I have only a few minutes in which
to write before we must draw up our lines and receive
our orders. I have just come from a conference with Gen-
eral Hood. 'There is little but despair left for us. The
General is brave but we are hopelessly outnumbered. We
have been here too long — -nearly two weeks — and now
that the crisis is approaching, we have lost confidence
and realize our deficiencies. With us lie the fading hopes
of the Confederacy. If we retake Nashville, we can still
save our country and our honor. If we lose, it is the end
of all our hopes and dreams.
But enough of my melancholy.
I am lonesome for you tonight, my love. I was allowed
a few moments sleep this afternoon, and I dreamed of
you and the first time we met. Do you remember? It was
May and I had come to your father's plantation to see
your brother Jack. I rode up to the drive and there you
were. The sun was on your hair, and there were blue
flowers on your dress, and your skirts danced in the,
breeze. You stood on the upper gallery, your hand on
the great white pillar and from that moment I was yours.
You were beautiful beyond belief. And you smiled.
You smiled, too, on our wedding day. Your eyes re-
flected the glow of the candles as you descended the
stairs in your white gown and veil, and my heart almost
burst with happiness. It seems so long ago — and yet it
has been only four years.
Remember our honeymoon in New Orleans and how
your great-aunt Myra wept and wept when we arrived?
And the ball at the new hotel? Four years! It has been
Our new home was ready for us when we returned. I
carried you over the threshold, and in the parlor, dim
with drawn blinds and evening shadows, we stood alone
and planned our future. How lovely the room was! It
hurts terribly to know the privations that you must suffer
now in that same room. That is the worst of this war —
our women must suffer with us. Once life was full and
good and now it is empty. You alone remain of all I once
loved. Your arms are the only thing left for me when the
war is over. We must build our life anew.
How is my baby? Kiss her for her father and may God
bless her and you, my faithful and beloved wife.
I must hurry. The first streaks of light are appearing
across the river. It will soon be dawn and death and des-
truction. If God in His infinite mercy grants that I shall
live through it, and if our Cause is victorious, once more
I can come home to you as I used to do long ago.
The bugle has sounded. I must go. I shall think of you
and our little girl during the fighting. Pray for me — that
I shall come home to you and her some day.
Until that day,
General Hood's Headquarters,
Confederate Army, stationed
in defeat at Brentwood, Tenn.,
December 28, 1864.
Mrs. Roger Stoddart
We regret to inform you that your husband died gal-
lantly in action at 6 A.M., December 27, in the battle
of Nashville. He served his Cause — the Cause of us all —
bravely and died as a true Confederate soldier.
Our deepest sympathy to you, Madam.
J. B. HOOD, C. S. A.,
Commander, Confederate Forces.
Quatrain: To An Old Love
Our love was not a flickering flame
To be watched and fondly cherished.
It was a sudden lightning flash,
And like the lightning perished.
The Negro Muse
By Thomas F. Sweeney
THE majority of white Americans know little of the
contribution of the Negro to American literature. We
are too prone to look contemptuously upon the Negro as
necessarily inferior and to ignore his attempts to burst
asunder the fetters we have placed upon his social and
intellectual life. Outside of Dunbar, who is usually known
only as a name, and a few negro spirituals, there is a
belief widespread that the Negro has written nothing
But he has definitely accomplished something in this
field. The first lispings of the negro muse are past, and
the time has come when we cannot but hear his just
claims to recognition in the sphere of literature.
Ignoring as inferior the Aframerican poets from Phillis
Wheatley in the eighteenth century, who incidently was
one of the first feminine poets in America, to Paul Lau-
rence Dunbar in the nineteenth, negro poetry has been
mounting steadily towards a high level. Indeed, in that
time, negro dialect poetry has given America its only
distinctly national poetry.
Paul Laurence Dunbar, who died in 1906 when only
thirty-four years of age,
stands out as the first poet from the Negro race in the United
States to show a combined mastery over poetic material and
poetic technique to reveal innate literary distinction In what
he wrote, and to maintain a high level of performance. He
was the first to rise to a height from which he could take a
perspective view of his own race. He was the first to see
objectively its humor, its superstitions, its shortcomings; the
first to feel sympathetically its heart wounds, its yearnings,
its aspirations, and to voice them all in a purely literary form.l
Dunbar's poetry is in large measure written in the
negro dialect, by means of which he portrayed accurate-
ly the Negro character and psychology. This use of
dialect was not from choice, as he remarked to a friend,
but because "it's the only way I can get them to listen
to me." In this respect James Weldon Johnson points out
a comparison between him and Robert Burns: "Burns
took the strong dialect of his people and made it classic ;
Dunbar took the humble speech of his people and in it
wrought music." 2
In "A Death Song," Dunbar expresses a sentiment often
found in poetry, namely, the desire to be buried near
familiar scenes. If we subdue our natural bias, this poem
does not suffer greatly when compared to many others on
the same subject:
Lay me down beneaf de willers in de grass,
Whah de branch'll go a-singin' as it pass
An' w'en I'se a-layin' low,
I kin hyeah it as it go
Singin', "Sleep, my honey, tek yo' res' at las'." 3
Dunbar is the greatest of the American negro poets
of the United States, but in the whole Western World he
is surpassed by several Latin American negroes. Among
these, Placido, Machado de Assis, Vieux, Durand, and
Manzano are internationally known. Placido and Macha-
do de Assis undoubtedly rank as literary masters and
their poetry could pass the severest standards.
Placido is most famous for the sonnet, "Farewell to
my Mother," written the night before his death. This re-
markable work has been translated into every important
language. Recently a national radio broadcast dramatized
it. Two translations of the poem exist in English, one by
William Cullen Bryant, the other by James Weldon John-
son, a Negro. The translation by Bryant is greatly inferior
to the accurate re-creation by Johnson.
Placido was deserted by his mother shortly after his
birth. His father died a few years later. In 1844, when
1 — J. W. Johnson, Book of American Negro Poets (Harcourt, Brace and Company, New
York, 1933), p. xxxiii.
2 Ibid., p. xxxv.
3 Ibid., p. 16.
only thirty-three years of age, having produced more than
six hundred pages of poetry, he was shot for conspiracy
in the Cuban revolt for independence. The night before
his execution he penned the sonnet to his mother in the
hope that when she heard of his death, it might awaken
some grief or sadness. The sextet is deeply moving :
My lyre before it is forever stilled
Breathes out to thee its last and dying note.
A note more scarce than a burden easing sigh,
Tender and sacred, innocent, sincere —
Spontaneous and instinctive as the cry
J gave at birth — And now the hour is here —
O God Thy mantle of mercy o'er my sins!
Mother, farewell! The pilgrimage begins. 4
Among the Aframericans of more recent times, several
have been ranked with the outstanding poets of America.
Anthologies compiled in recent years include works by
Negroes, with no qualifications given nor "colored sec-
tion assigned." Especially noteworthy are James Weldon
Johnson, Claude McKay, Joseph S. Cotter, Jr., and
Charles Bertram Johnson.
In general, the modern Negro has discarded dialect as
a medium of expression, while the innovations of "Spoon
River Anthology" are widely used with much success.
Occasionally, exceptionally fine poetry is produced in the
traditional forms, such as J. W. Johnson's admirable
Petrarchan sonnet, "Mother Night." A few, as W. E.
Burghardt Du Bois' "A Litany of Atlanta," are unique
None, however, is a great master of poetic technique,
but their poems are perhaps the most sincere. They chafe
under the yoke of social injustice and their increasing
unrest and resentment are poured forth in bitterest words.
They voice the emotions of the masses, singing a sorrow-
ful and proudly resentful strain. It is this spirit that per-
vades nearly the whole of the modern negro poetry.
Sometimes, as in McKay's "To the White Fiends" and "If
We Must Die," it is so virulent as to strike terror.
Yet this great problem of the negro race is not always
allowed to overshadow the sense of artistry. In J. S.
Cotter's poetry we find a delicate poetic sense and a re-
fined imagination. Cotter died of tuberculosis when only
4 Op. cit., p. 206
twenty-four, and his poetic aspirations and technical skill
force one to wonder, as with Keats, what his destiny
might have been. His poem "Rain Music" is among his
On the dusty earth-drum
Beats the falling rain;
Now a whispered murmur,
Now a louder strain
Slender silvery drumsticks,
On an ancient drum,
Beats the mellow music
Bidding life to come. 5
The American Negro has not yet produced a poet who
may be classed among the very best, but in the light of
his accomplishments in the past fifty years in spite of the
obstacles that beset his path, it would not be extravagant
to predict that the negro muse will some day attain the
Olympian heights. Charles Bertram Johnson sounds the
keynote when he says:
Here and there a growing note
Swells from a conscious throat;
Thrilled with message fraught
The pregnant hour is near;
We wait our Lyric Seer ... 6
5 Op. oit., p. 156
6 Op. cit., "Negro Poets," Page 187.
Interlude: A Vignette
By Stockman O'Rourke
THE insinuating lilt of saxophones rises above the mur-
murs of the swaying couples on the dance floor. Cigar-
ette smoke floats in diffusive clouds on the atmosphere.
The room is stifling hot and scarcely a vagrant breeze
finds its way inside. All are absorbed in the mad whirl
of the dance, intoxicated by the half-savage rhythms.
A restive couple stops dancing and without speaking
moves towards the door. Outside the cool breath of a
nocturnal breeze touches their flushed cheeks. The stars
look down with a cool beauty reminiscent of diamonds on
velvet. Only the scent of pine trees rides on the night
air, only the whisper of pine needles. Inside they still
dance, but all is cool and quiet here.
All in A Night's Work
By Autry D, Grccr
MAX walked rapidly down Eighth Avenue. He buried
his hands deeper in his overcoat pockets and bent his
head forward into the icy wind that swirled scraps of
paper and dust up from the street.
The buildings loomed cold, grey, and bleak in the
faint yellow light of the street lamps, and the dingy
windows of closed shops stared like the blank eyes of
the dead. The street was deserted except for Max and
three men who sat in a car parked a half block down.
Max stopped in the doorway of one of the buildings
and squinted at the number on the door. It was not the
right place. He walked past two more doorways and then
stopped at the third. He cupped a match in his hands,
and lit a cigarette. After exhaling, he watched the wind
waft the blue smoke out into the street.
"It's a nice place for a job, all right — quiet, deserted,
and no copper on the beat on a night like this." He
stamped his feet to keep the blood circulating. "It's plenty
cold. I wonder if everything is O.K." He tapped the re-
volver in his overcoat pocket to reassure himself.
There were footsteps on the street. Max slid back into
the shadows of the doorway. His hand closed on the
cold steel of the gun, and he brought it from his pocket.
He felt weak and hollow in his stomach, and his hand
trembled. Smoke from the cigarette clenched in his lips
temporarily blinded him, and suddenly he felt panicky.
He jerked the cigarette from his mouth and ground it out
beneath his foot.
"Don't be a fool," he muttered to himself. The steps
drew nearer, and then a man walked into view. Max
started to grip the trigger, but caught himself. He could
tell the man was not Tony; he was too small and walked
differently. The footsteps faded down the street.
"I gotta be careful. It won't do to knock just anybody
off." Max restored the gun to his pocket and glanced at
the illuminated dial of his watch. Tony was due at 12 :30 ;
it was only 12:15. "I'd better watch my step. Plenty of
people might pass in fifteen minutes. I hope it ain't too
dark for me to recognize Tony, but I think I'd know that
face anywhere. I wish I was used to this. Guys say the
first time you rub one out is bad. I believe it!"
Max looked at his hands. They were still trembling.
He had to stop that. He glanced at his watch again; not
even a minute had passed. His thoughts drifted to Gus,
Eddie, and Al waiting in the car to get him after the job
was done. He wondered if they thought he had guts
enough to pull it. He particularly wanted to show Al.
Al, with his long, white fingers, his tall thin body, and his
steely eyes, who killed and made a joke of it. The others
didn't matter much; it was Al whom he wanted to im-
They had had four or five drinks before they left the
room, but Max needed another one to give him courage
and warmth. Just one more little nip to steady his hand.
But he couldn't get it now.
If Tony saw him first, Max knew the game was up.
Tony could shoot faster and straighter than he. He, Max,
would keep behind the doorway until Tony had passed
by, and then plug him in the back. There was no use
in taking chances. Tony had it coming to him. He was a
rat and should be shot. The dirty wop had double-crossed
Max glanced at the door behind him. On it were the
numerals 416, and above them there was a rental sign.
The boys sure knew how to pull these jobs. They stuck
him before an empty joint, and they knew just when
Tony would come.
"What time is it?" he asked himself. It was 12:25.
"In six minutes I'll have my job done and be on my way."
He could just hear the boys grunt with satisfaction as he
jumped into the car. They'd probably slip him plenty for
this work, and this was only his first.
One more minute! He felt cold again and nauseated
from the whisky, and again as he reached for the gun
his hand shook. He wished he could have a smoke, but
it was too late to take a chance on one now.
The door behind him creaked and was flung open. He
wheeled around and saw the dark form of a man. He
saw two flashes of fire, and a gun roared in his ear. Then
he felt the pain, hot and rending, in his body. He felt be-
wildered — it was all so impossible! His eyes followed
his own gun as it slipped from his hand and clattered to
the paving. He felt himself reeling ; the buildings seemed
to sway, and he turned and fell face down on the side-
He heard Tony's voice in his ear. It sounded a long way
off. "You thought you were pretty smart, kid, but you
knew a little too much." Tony's foot cracked into his
ribs, and then against his cheek.
A car pulled up to the curb, and Tony got in. Max
tried to crawl toward it, but it pulled away before he
could reach it. He heard the tires squeal as they turned
into Madison street.
"Al! Al! Don't leave me, I'm dying. For God's sake,
somebody help me!" Blood formed a little pool beneath
Max's mouth as he lay there, and it began to seep through
his clothes from the wounds in his chest.
"You done a nice job, Tony," Al said.
"Yeah," Tony replied laconically. "Say, Gus, let's stop
somewhere and get a beer and a hamburger; I'm hun-
Have A Drink?
By Edward Balthrop
COME in. Good morning, how are you? No, don't go.
You are in the right room. I know I don't look quite
like the type of healthy traveler you expected ; but you'll
have to take me as I am. And you'll like it, too. You see,
I'm a reporter, too ; and I know what you have to put up
with. Have a drink? No? What's the matter — just started
on the job or married? Neither one? Huh! Well, I guess
there are decent sorts of people in every line, even re-
porting. Have a seat. I want to get this over with. I'm
not feeling so well. Those damned Russian prisons don't
especially make for a person's general health, at least
Yes, it's a good feeling to get back in the good old
U. S. A. You can tell all your dear readers that. And you
can tell them I never would have gotten back to their good
old U. S. A. if it hadn't been for the combined efforts of
the American Embassy in Moscow. They got me out of
that rat-hole the damned Communists call a jail. Jail?
That's what they called it, but let me tell you, buddy, it
was just an elevated cesspool. God knows how I survived
it. But I did. So let's forget it.
How did I get out? You know more about that than I
do. All I know is one day a guard came and jerked me
out of my — what they called — cell and led me to the
man in charge. He turned me over to Mr. Laskin, the
junior ambassador to Moscow. I passed out then and next
morning woke up in a hospital bed. That was six months
ago. I'm just getting well now. Not even fully recovered,
yet. You can see that yourself.
How long? They tell me only three months. It seemed
like three lifetimes to me. I couldn't have caught all
the diseases I caught in three months. But they say three
months ; so three months it must be. For myself, I can say
I lost all track of time. Every day meant just that much
longer misery. I'm telling you, man, I was so sick I was
afraid I wouldn't die.
Laugh. Go ahead, smile. You can if you want to. But
you don't know. You've never been in a Russian jail. And,
by God, for your sake I hope you never are. You might
not be as lucky as I was.
How did I happen to get thrown into jail? Now, you're
getting better. I can answer that. I remember it more
clearly, I should. I had three long months — so they say —
to think it over. It seemed more like three centuries, but
they say only three months, so three months it is. I had
three months to think it over.
I'm sorry. I'm telling you how I got thrown into that
stink-hole they call a jail — why, in official diplomatic
language, the unfortunate fellow was incarcerated. But
I've digressed. And I'm digressing again. But I'll get
there pretty soon. You see I've lost all the characteristics
of a good newspaper man. Those three months took
everything out of me that I ever had. You don't under-
stand, I know. You can't because you never were in a
Russian jail. But I was and I know.
Three months of that hell took out all my spirit and
it would have taken out yours, too, buddy; believe me.
Thank God this is America that I'm talking in now.
Because in almost any other country we'd both be shot for
having this interview. You'll have to take that on my
word, too. Smile if you want to, but you'll have to believe
it on my word. You'll have to, because I was there and
you weren't. Take that on faith. You'll need it and more
when you hear what's coming.
Why was I thrown into jail or, as the diplomatic bulle-
tin said, incarcerated? Frankly, I don't know. All I can
do is tell you what happened up to the time I was im-
prisoned and let you figure out for yourself why. That's
it, get set; it's coming fast now.
Eleven months ago I was in New York just as you are
now, a reporter. I did just what you do now. I covered
my beat, got my news stories and occasionally did a little
interviewing of famous people, every now and then catch-
ing some disgusting job such as you have now in inter-
viewing me. No, don't protest. I'm a reporter too, don't
forget. And I have your side as well as mine to look at.
Where was I — oh, yes. But before I begin let me digress
again and ask you to take a drink. You may need it.
No? O. K. You're an obstinate cuss, aren't you? But I
guess if you don't want a drink, you don't. And if you
don't want a drink, you won't take one. Some philosophy,
huh? Just a hangover from my college days. Don't mind
it. But don't forget, you took it on yourself not to drink.
If you regret it, don't blame me.
Now that that's over, I'll begin again. Eleven months
ago I was a New York newspaperman and like all New
York newspapermen I wanted to get up in the world,
All I wanted was a chance — only half a chance.
Eleven months ago my chance came. Or at least I
thought it did. Our paper was sending a new man to
Russia to write feature articles about the conditions in
that country. He wasn't to be a correspondent, just a
feature writer to travel around and write about general
conditions. Volunteers were requested. Like the over-
ambitious, unlucky fool I was, I volunteered. You see I
was dumb, ignorant, and plain stupid. I was totally igno-
rant of how things were run over there, and, if I had
known, it wouldn't have mattered. I would have volun-
My cursed good luck was with me. I got the job. The
managing editor called me in one day, congratulated me,
gave me instructions, money and a good pep talk, and
sent me on my way.
Of course all this was done with the consent, even ap-
proval, of the Russian government. It had given its con-
sent to my paper and to prove its enthusiasm gave me a
guide to take me over the country and act as companion
and interpreter. Also he was, without my knowledge, to
censor my articles.
His name was Litkov, but I was promptly informed by
him he was to be known as Comrade. I, too, would be
Comrade to him. He had been to school outside his coun-
try but his mind was too Russian and too communistic
to have anything else but this. So Comrade was he and
so was I.
My comrade was thoroughly Russian as I said before.
But his schooling had made him a perfect gentleman. As
a host he has never had his equal; and his good will
was not ephemeral. For two months he showed me the
best time I ever had in my life. Nothing was too good
for me. The full use of government authority was given
him to use in my behalf and he didn't spare it a tittle.
For two months we wandered over Russia at random,
going hither and yon wherever fancy dictated. Always
it was the same. Russian after Russian groveled before
the distinguished visitor and did all he could to help him.
My articles were easily gathered, written, and cabled off.
Everything was so easy I was afraid I might soon be re-
called. I wanted to stay there the rest of my life. That's
how pleasant they can make things when they want to.
But, oh, when they don't want to! And that's what I'm
coming to now.
Everything had been covered then — in my articles —
except the one big thing, Moscow. To Moscow we went,
my comrade and I — I to enjoy myself and to write sev-
eral articles concerning the high efficiency of the govern-
ment and he to entertain me and make sure my articles
were complimentary. Oh, no, I didn't know it then. I
didn't find out he was checking up on me till later. Then
it didn't matter.
Moscow was, in good old American slang, hot stuff.
It was the crowning point of my journey thus far. My
work was made easier and my stay was made more,
though it seems hardly possible, pleasant.
Don't rush me, please. I'll get to it in time. All this
I'm saying is important.
Every morning we, Comrade and I, went around to
different places, gathering material for my stories. He
took me to just the places where I could get dope without
too much trouble and without too much truth. Everything
was so easy I should have been suspicious, but I wasn't.
There things were. I was having the time of my life,
my paper was getting stories and Russia was getting good
propaganda. It was too sweet. Something had to break.
And it did.
The second week of our stay in Moscow, Comrade came
to my hotel a little earlier than usual and rushed up to
my room without being announced.
I remember that meeting as if it were yesterday. I
should. I had three months to think it over. I was foggy-
headed and bleary-eyed from the night before but his
agitation soon cleared me up.
"Comrade, comrade, " he said, when I was sufficiently
awake, "I've come to say good-bye. "
"Why," I protested, "you are supposed to stay with
me till my job is over. I have two more weeks yet. You
can't leave yet."
He smiled pityingly, yet fondly. "I know. But important
business is on. Two spies have been arrested and con-
victed and I have been given the honor of executing
He meant it. To him it was an honor. But I was still
desirous of his company.
"Why can't you have the execution here and then con-
tinue on as my escort?" I queried.
Again he smiled pityingly, this time at my ignorance.
"Comrade, my comrade," he soothed, "don't you know-
such an honor as I have received means further promo-
tion? Immediately after the execution I report to the
Commissar for the assignment. So, you see, it is goodbye."
"Goodbye it is, then," I replied. "But still I can be
with you a little longer. Besides, it will make a good
story. I will go with you to the execution."
He looked dubious. "Visitors are not allowed." Then
he encouraged. "But perhaps it can be arranged. Come,
let us go."
On the way to the prison, I confided in him my wonder
at the pleasure he took in being appointed executioner.
"We Russians are truly nationalistic," came the ans-
wer, "and are only too glad to do anything in defense of
our country. Killing spies is part of that defense. Con-
sequently killing spies is a duty and an honor."
It sounded logical — too damned logical.
Then came the execution itself. Comrade and I were
waiting in a courtyard inside the prison. Please listen
carefully now for this is the most important part of my
story. We were facing a wall. Presently an old man and
a young girl walked up and with amazing self-possession
placed themselves against the wall. The woman's beauty
was incredible. I looked at her closely.
She and Comrade faltered and started toward each
other at the same time. But she composed herself and
he froze up. The blindfolds were put on and the two spies
prepared for death.
Comrade's sword went up. At the top of its arc, it
wavered hesitatingly. Then it descended.
Shots shattered the oppressive stillness and two corpses
crumbled to the ground.
Somehow or other I wanted to ridicule Litkov and all
he stood for. I don't know what made me do it, but I did.
He stood — pale and agitated — in the same place where
he had let fall his sword. I spoke ironically. "Comrade,
killing spies for your country is an honor; indeed it is,
that is, until a beautiful girl enters the picture."
He looked up. There were tears welling up in his eyes.
Yes, even Russian army officers can cry.
When he spoke, his voice broke. "Comrade, an officer
in the Russian army is hardened to a lot, in fact, to most
of things. But he still has a little sentiment. Permit me
to repeat: killing spies for my country is an honor, even
when that spy happens to be my own daughter."
His daughter! It hit me like a thunderbolt. I opened
my mouth to speak, but I was too late.
He wheeled and left me. The next day I was arrested.
Why, I don't know. I never was told. You can tell from
the — say, buddy, you look shaky. Have a drink. There.
I thought you'd do better with it.
The Church and Democracy
By Stockman O'Rourke
IN a pastoral letter made public in November the Cath-
olic hierarchy of the United States proclaimed a cru-
sade to spread the ideals of Christian Democracy through-
out the Catholic school system. It is the response to the
Pope's plea for a constructive program of social action
and the challenge to the subversive forces which seek to
"destroy all that is just and ennobling in liberty-loving
It does not mean that the Catholic Church has neg-
lected this activity in the past. The Church has always
taught in her schools the doctrines which underlie the
spirit of American democracy. The dignity and liberty of
the human personality, love of country, justice to all
men, the sovereignity of the people, and political equal-
ity — all these fundamental principles find their firmest
support in the precepts of the natural law as promul-
gated by the Church. However, it does mean that the
Church will mjake definite and determined efforts to
systematize and to emphasize the teaching of the rights
and duties of citizens under the American form of govern-
ment. Attacks are being made upon democratic principles
and institutions. The Catholic . Church has decided that
the best defense against these attacks is a strong offense.
Now that the Church comes forward as a protector of
democratic government it may seem to many that she is
playing a new role — that she is, perhaps, adapting her
teachings to the press of circumstances. This view is far
from true. The Church from her very beginning has
taught, defended, and practiced the principles of Christ-
ian Democracy. Though many Catholics and non-Catholics
may be ignorant of the fact, democracy owes an incal-
culable debt to Catholicism. Even a cursory examination
of Catholic contributions to democracy will vouch for
When Catholicism first appeared the two greatest evils
besetting humanity were slavery and the degraded con-
dition of women — conditions which controvert the nar-
rowest defiinition of democracy. The Church immediately
set about the task of ameliorating the conditions of the
slaves, educating them for their new condition, and
emancipating them. The earliest Fathers spoke out strong-
ly for the principle that was to become the first "self-
evident" truth of American democracy. Said St. Paul in
the first century : "There is neither Jew nor Greek, there
is neither bound nor free, there is neither male nor fe-
male. For you are all one in Christ Jesus." Nor did the
Church hesitate to carry out her theories in practice.
Among her saints, her priests, and her popes were num-
bered many of the humble and despised, many of the
poor, yes, and many of the slaves. By elevating marriage
to the dignity of a sacrament, the Church in one stroke
raised the position of women from the degraded level of
paganism to the honored and venerated level of the
In the Middle Ages — the age of Catholicism — many of
the constituent principles of Christian Democracy had
their beginnings. Under the guild system the rights and
liberties of the workingmen were established and pro-
tected. Conditions which trade unions now strive desper-
ately to attain were regarded as a matter of course by
mediaeval workers. Regulated salaries and hours of work,
opportunities for rest and recreation, compensation for
the aged, the sick, and for widows and orphans, oppor-
tunities for advancement — all these the guilds provided
under the influence of Catholicism. The Magna Carta, so
long honored in English history as declaration of political
rights, was nothing more than a list of the rights that the
Church had long held as inviolable and which were now
restored by King John through the efforts of a body of
Catholic freemen headed by their Archbishop. In this
way the Catholic Church brought about the firm establish-
ment of the great democratic ideals of trial by jury, due
process of law, and property right of inheritance of
widows and children, and representative government.
One of the greatest contributions of the Catholic
Church to Christian Democracy is the system of Scholastic
Philosophy. All the great principles of the Declaration of
Independence and the Constitution stem directly or in-
directly from this system. The democratic origin of civil
power, the duty of governments to protect the natural
rights of man, the injustice of laws violating these rights,
and the rights of active and passive resistance to unjust
laws were all taught by Catholicism long before the exist-
ence of the New World was even suspected.
In modern times the Church has continued to spread
the great gospel of democracy. Without advocating a par-
ticular form of government, she has insisted upon a society
governed by the Christian principles of justice and char-
ity. The Church gazes upon in sorrow and attacks with
vigor modern states in which the worth of the human per-
sonality is disregarded. Once more she takes up the fight
against those who attempt to trample the rights of man.
This is no new fight for her and it is not surprising, there-
fore, to find her once more at its head.
. . . That Mark Our Place
A Play in One Act
By F. Taylor Peck
The scene is one of the American cemeteries in France
for the war dead. The rows of white crosses stretch off into
the distance. On a bench to one side sits an aging man, resting
his chin on his cane, and looking intently at the second figure,
a young man. The young man is standing a few paces off
watching the sun sink behind the farthest crosses. The elderly
man, who is so continental in appearance, speaks with an
American accent. We soon see that they have been conversing
for quite a time, and are in the throes of an emotional silence.
ELDER (sighing and shaking his head). You shouldn't
be so bitter against the world. Such cynicism doesn't be-
come one so young.
YOUTH (whirling and facing the elder with angry
tears in his voice). What right have you to judge? Is
your father buried somewhere (indicates the fields) out
there, somewhere you don't know and can't find?
ELDER (mildly). I don't know whether my father is
dead or not.
YOUTH (startled into momentary silence). You . . .
don't . . . know? Don't you care?
ELDER. Naturally, I care.
YOUTH. Then why—
ELDER. I am a prodigal son who did not return. I ra,n
away, knocked about the world, and then the war came
to America. And here I am still.
ELDER. My going was no loss. My return would be
YOUTH. And yet what lias the world done for you
that you are still so generous toward it? Has it ever
given you a moment's happiness that it didn't ask an
ELDER. No, what you say is quite true, but such suffer-
ing only makes me enjoy more fully the moments of peace
and happiness when they do come. What more could you
YOUTH. Plenty ! What would you ask if all you could
learn about your father is, "missing since December 24,
1917; believed to have deserted to the enemy"?
ELDER (drops his cane in amazement.) What?
Believed to have deserted to the enemy! Why didn't you
tell me this before?
YOUTH. Can you blame me for not doing so?
ELDER (in considerable confusion). Yes ... er ... no!
It cannot be. My God, it cannot be. (Buries his head in
YOUTH (seating himself beside the elder, he speaks
less harshly) . Say, I didn't mean to give you such a shock.
But you see how I feel, now.
ELDER. Yes, yes. I can see how you feel, now. But I
thought you said your father was dead among the un-
YOUTH. I did say that. That's what my mother
thought. In fact, so did I until two years ago when I found
this registered letter from the War Department to my
family. It was among mother's things.
ELDER. Among your mother's things?
YOUTH. It was with her letters, and when she died
(the elder stiffens to rigidity, as if to leap into the sun-
set. His head bows, and his body droops forlornly. The
youth keeps talking, rising and looking again into the
distance) I came across it. What I could never under-
stand is why she hadn't burnt it.
ELDER (in a profound voice). My son, there are some
things we mortals cannot destroy or erase. Such things as
this end only in eternity. You, too, must bear the burden
of your father's mistake.
YOUTH (rather disturbed at the elder's tone). You
sound as if you believed that my father, MY FATHER,
could have done such a thing. Sir, my father was a re-
spected man, honest, and a leading citizen of our town !
ELDER. Greater men than he have fallen.
YOUTH (enraged). Sir! I—
ELDER (brings his cane crashing down on the bench,
and says in equal anger). Silence, young man! You of
the younger generation have the unpardonable trait of
judging where the facts are unknown. Would it influence
you any to know that I knew your father?
YOUTH (left wordless by this). You—
ELDER. Yes, I knew your father.
YOUTH. Then why didn't you say so sooner? All this —
ELDER. Forget it. I wanted to see what kind of boy
you were before I told you. If you had been less bitter,
less soured against world and man, I would have told you
sooner, but as it is — (shrugs).
YOUTH (falling on his knees before the elder.) Please
tell me all you know of him. It's a torture to have the
answer so near yet so inaccessible. How could I ever
thank and repay you for such a service ! Tell me, did he
die in action? (There is a long silence, in which the elder
seems to gather himself for a tremendous struggle. When
he speaks it is in a dull, toneless voice, his eyes looking
straight in front of him, not at the youth.)
ELDER. Your father ... a member of my company . . .
was blown — was killed by the explosion of a mine on the
Hindenburg Line. His body was never recovered, so you
won't find his grave.
YOUTH. How do you know all this?
ELDER. Does it matter? I was his friend. Now will you
give up this useless search for that which isn't, this bitter-
ness against the world ? Won't you forget this mighty hate
and these cringing fears for his sake?
YOUTH. Yes, I will change now, for I'm satisfied. I
am certain of his guiltlessness. If mother might have
known! (Rises, and turns again to the horizon.)
ELDER. Your mother knew the truth!
YOUTH. Yes, she must have known. (Turns to the
elder and extends his hand.) How can I ever thank you
for what you have done for me. If there is any way at
all I might be of service —
ELDER. There is nothing, my boy, nothing. Go on
your way through the world, but remember this time to
find those moments of happiness it offers.
YOUTH. I will ! I will ! (He turns and walks away from
the elder, who is standing tensely erect now, but he
turns abruptly.) Did you ever hear my father say this?
Play me not a mournful tune,
Not notes that sound of tears,
No ballad of a mighty hate,
Nor those of cringing fears.
It was in the only letter of his that I could find. Were
you there when he wrote it?
ELDER (hesitating, then in vigorous denial). No, I
have never listened to that poem. Is that the only verse?
YOUTH. No, there is another, but I must hurry to the
station. Goodbye, monsieur, and thank you again. (Exit,
humming happily to himself.)
ELDER (sinks slowly to the bench, his gaze fixed on
the retreating figure. He says softly but distinctly) :
Rather my listening heart
With fantasies of song
That soar to joyous, ringing heights
And linger ever long.
My God! MY SON! (He collapses, sobbing on the
To A Flirt
A translation of Horace's Ad Pyrrham
What perfumed youth embraces you in yon tow'r?
O Pyrrha, in your rose garden there
For whom do you bind back your blonde hair,
Simplicity giving its beauty power?
Alas, how he will regret his faithful hour
And like a sailor marvel at the air,
At once grown wild and filling him with care.
Knowing you only as you seem to be,
Hoping (vainly) that you will ever be free,
He believes your love as strong as a tower —
O wretched men, dazzled by what you see !
Now, as a sailor, who freed from the gale,
Give thanks to the pow'rs of the deep,
So do I, freed of your heart of mail.
CASES of mistaken identity are common ... In New
York a throng of women lustily cheered the former
English minister of foreign affairs in the mistaken belief
that he was either Robert Taylor or Clark Gable . . . Slum-
ber has drawbacks and advantages ... In Omaha a man,
forgetting he left a pot of stew over a gas fire, went to
sleep and woke up to find firemen bursting into his apart-
ment to douse the burnt stew . . . But a traveling salesman
in Philadelphia refused to let a conflagration disturb him
and continued his slumbers even though forcibly removed
in the bed's blanket from his burning house.
The wave of crime continues unabated ... In San
Francisco a thief, nonplussed by three suitcases in a
parked car, unwittingly chose the one that contained an
assortment of diapers ... A WPA connoisseur of fine
viands was arrested in Ohio for stealing two big cheeses.
Grilled the prisoner glibly admitted other burglaries of
tasty foods . . . Coast guard planes are now used to ferret
out illicit stills ... A resident of Philadelphia foiled a
bandit by luring him to a taproom where the arrest was
Justice was defeated when a Kentucky jury reprieved
two canines accused of maiming a turkey. Kentucky law
executes dogs convicted of killing or maiming livestock
. . . And a magistrate in Philadelphia held that bidding a
lady good night did not constitute sufficient reason for
issuing an overtime parking summons . . . Justice pre-
vailed, however, when a Mobile judge ruled a police third-
degree ample punishment for a charge of disorderly con-
duct and resisting arrest ... In New Orleans three men
were given federal sentences for defacing WPA project
buildings with creosote.
Domestic tangles continue to plague the courts ... In
Cleveland an eye-blackened wife vainly pleaded with a
judge to free her divorce-seeking spouse of a six months'
sojourn in the workhouse ... A Chicago judge granted a
divorce to a woman whose erstwhile mate jazzed up
classic opera on the piano ... A strangled corpse, attired
in women's apparel and makeup, fooled hardened Illinois
cops until a mortician disclosed the cadaver to be a man.
The aged entered the spotlight momentarily ... In
Mississippi a county poorhouse was caught slowly starv-
ing aged inmates to death. Moreover, the accommodating
authorities were thoughtfully providing hogs and chickens
as roommates for the aged ... In Pennsylvania an aged
man pinioned by the thumb to a wrecked car, calmly
hacked off the digit with his penknife . . . An eighty four-
year-old Cleveland woman pleaded with city hospital
authorities to keep her job so that she might continue to
support her fifty-four-year-old son. The request was
Animals are always good copy ... In Saskatchewan a
huge herd of caribou held up a train twenty-four hours
while they crossed the tracks ... In Indiana a bird hound
gained a new lease of retrieving when a gold crown was
affixed to a tooth ... A Michigan farmer sentenced his
prize bull to the yoke of a plow after he tired of being
chased all over the pasture by the said bovine ... A
Wisconsin bull, not to be outdone, tore up a porch and
door to get at a citizen, diverted his attention to arriving
deputies, and then docilely followed his master home-
ward ... A fox, disturbed in an Iowa chicken yard,
slipped through an open kitchen door and devoured a
platter of buckwheat cakes until discovered and shot . . .
The pig sty landing of a model gas plane so frightened
the pigs that it took them days to recover their equilib-
rium . . . Airlines are equipping their transport planes
with duck deflectors to prevent neighborly ducks from
crashing through the cockpit to visit the pilots ... A
Montana grizzly frightened two women out of their wits
when he fell off a hillside on top of their car. No damage
was done except to Bruin who lumbered dazedly away . . .
Oak Park, Ill.'s phantom scare was nothing more ex-
citing than a big green parrot whose choice of language
shocked even the sophisticated police ... As penalty for
letting his pet rattlesnake bite him, a California mother
compelled her menagerie-collecting son to sell the snake
to pay hospital bills . . . After investing in six frying chick-
ens, a Kentucky restauranteur pried one open and found
a five-dollar gold tooth.
Even universities are vexed by housing problems . . .
In Cleveland the faculty of John Carroll University solved
the problem by parking their apparel on laboratory skel-
etons and specimen jars and sleeping under dissecting
The afflicted sometimes put the able-bodied to shame.
... In Ohio an armless man so successfully demonstrated
his ability to drive a car with his feet that he will probably
be awarded a motorist's license . . . Many leap blindly in
the dark, but it took a blind Pittsburgh freshman to make
the University track team as a high jumper.
Suits continue to be pressed ... In California a woman
won a judgment for absorbing the force of a wet sponge
that plunged six stories atop her head ... In New Orleans
a seaman sued a steamship company for bruises sustained
by the repercussion of a gun-shooting life line.
Accidents happen even in the best of families ... In
Alabama a sleeping parent accidently killed his infant
son by rolling over him in bed ... A Boston man, carry-
ing a sack of coal on his back, climbed twelve steps of a
building without mishap. As he reached the thirteenth he
toppled backwards and fractured his skull . . . Two men
in a car escaped unscathed after their machine hurdled
two ditches, an embankment and a creek before landing
wrecked on the road it left ... A bolt of lightning set off
a New York railroad fire siren that screeched forty min-
utes before repairs could be made . . . Violence occasion-
ally prevails when gentler methods fail ... In Illinois a
farmers' milk cooperative brought local dairy companies
to terms by beating up milk truck drivers and spilling
Stranger things have happened . . . Iowa state liquor
permit books so closely resemble bank books that many
a man has unknowingly tried to enter his deposits in
them ... A purse lost eight years ago in an Illinois hotel
was found recently on the upper ledge of a window.
The police make the headlines in more ways than one.
. . . Tennessee has a deputy sheriff whose 465 pounds
makes him the biggest cop in the state. He used to weigh
700 before he began to diet . . . The New York City police
department is offering former college football stars spec-
ial inducements to join the force.
American exports thus far this year exceed imports . . .
But gustatory appetites are still whetted by foreign
cheeses, vegetables, nuts and fruits in ever increasing
quantities . . . Investigations prove that the millions Amer-
ican women invest in silk hose purchase little more than
an ounce of silk in each pair or eleven cents out of every
eighty-five cents worth of silk hosiery.
Spice international enters the day's news . . . Great
Britain will welcome Mr. and Mrs. Edward Windsor if
the madam is not accorded the rank and position of the
wives of Edward's ducal brothers . . . Chinese strategists
pulled a fast one on the Japanese. Pseudo deserters lured
a Jap military expedition to a village in interior Amoy
where at midnight a withering blast of gun-fire disor-
ganized the invaders who fled pellmell after the loss Of
400 men . . . Nazi Germany took British criticism of the
anti-Jewish purges very neighborly until the British prime
minister suggested that Tanganyika, formerly German
East Africa, be converted into a haven for German Jews.
. . . Japan has decreed that phonographic recordings of
"hot" music are detrimental to public morals. At the
same time the Nipponese are agitating against bobbed
hair for their women on the grounds that it produces bald-
ness . . . Family tanks have replaced family cars in Soviet
Russia. The idea has been spread, too, to family war
planes and family machine gun units.
The realm of sports is not to be outdone ... In New
York a football fan dislocated her jaw while cheering for
her team ... In an Ohio college a football trainer this
season used twenty-four miles of adhesive tape and a
hundred gallons of alcohol on his charges . . . Barefoot
football is in vogue on the sandlots of Hawaii . . . One
wrestler, probably taking his tossing and squirming in
the ring to heart, specializes in collecting (non-pink)
snakes . . . An idea that's worth cultivating on college
campuses was introduced in New York . . . The coach
of a professional football team pays ten dollars for each
intercepted pass or blocked punt that leads to a touch-
Spring Hill Quarterly
VOLUME I . (WINTER) 1939 NUMBER 2
t&f /^ Spying
THE AFTERMATH (verse) . David Loveman 5
WHY FEDERAL DEFICIT SPENDING? (article) __John L. Bacon 6
HOLIDAY (short-story) Autry D. Greer 15
ACT OF CONTRITION (verse) Edward Balthrop 17
PROPAGANDA (article) F. Taylor Peck 18
AGAIN THERE IS LAUGHTER (short story) David Loveman 29
CONCERNING CONVERSATION (essay) Stockman O'Rourke 22
SINGING RIVER (verse) Caldwell Delaney 26
BAD HISTORY MAKES GOOD VERSE
(essay) Thomas F. Sweeney 28
SHE KNEW HIM BEST (article) Louis J. Maloof 32
SECOND DREAM (short-story) Jack T. Halladay 35
PRESS GLEANINGS 40
THE SPRING HILL QUARTERLY is published in December, February, April, and June
by the students of Spring Hill College. Subscription: one dollar the year, thirty cents
the copy. Address all communications and manuscripts to THE SPRING HILL QUAR-
TERLY, Spring Hill College, Spring Hill, Alabama. Entered as second class matter
under a temporary permit, December 22, 1938, at the Post Office at Spring Hill, Alabama.
The sweep of snow, the power of eternity are blended ;
mystic, tragic night and all the nocturnal things
find comfort in the magnitude of my futility.
The gambler who has lost ! The suicide !
I am despicable — the essence of hopelessness. I am
a refugee from life
seeking solace in my selfishness.
My inner consciousness awakes and threatens to engulf
Remorse ! No ! I am cynical. My armor that I forged
of bitterness and aching heart,
my sword of ego endorse my craftsmanship.
Within myself I would withdraw.
Like the shadow of the fleeing bird in the forest of the
I cloak myself in obscurity against the world.
The attainment of what I seek is superfluous,
for the conquest of the process marks my achievement.
My selfishness is uncontrollable.
It motiates my existence.
It seeks to destroy me.
My journey lies within a valley devoid of light.
The atmosphere reeks of vanity,
Is it destruction I would know?
Wherein do I seek to destroy?
Long since I have stripped myself
of worth, of happiness, of promise by my greed.
My life is no longer mine to destroy.
It is the foil of my avarice and passions.
It echoes emptiness for me. It has,
since the beginning, been irrevocably lost.
Response cannot come from a thing so soiled
to contradict this knowledge of despair.
It is inevitable.
My soul is dead.
Why federal Deficit Spending?
• John L. Bacon
IN the closing days of the first month of this year
Congress set the appropriation for WPA at $725,000,-
000, to be extended over the period from February 7
through June 30. The final appropriation approved by the
Congress was $150,000,000 lower than that asked by Pres-
ident Roosevelt, and the cut was effected only after pro-
longed and stubbornly contested debate in both Houses.
Naturally, details of the debate found their way to the
front pages of all newspapers, and set most of us won-
dering just why the government deemed it expedient to
expend an average of $3,000,000,000 a year for the pur-
poses, as it called them, of "Recovery and Relief."
All of us realized that much of the money went to the
direct relief of the distress of the unemployed. Most of
us realized,, in a rather vague way, generally, that it
had another end, the bringing about of natural recovery.
But just how it operates to effect this end is a point
most of us are unfamiliar with.
In this article, an attempt is made to explain the theory
and practice of what we may call "Federal Business
Stimulation Spending," or, as it is more commonly known,
pump-priming. As far as possible, the treatment is ob-
jective ; it is intended to be a factual outline of the theory
of pump-priming, how that theory works in practice, and
what the general results of the present Administration's
business stimulation efforts have been.
By the name, "pump-priming," is meant, most briefly,
that program or system of spending public funds by
which the government hopes to stimulate the lagging
economic machine. "Government spending is like a cat-
alytic agent which is used to awake dormant forces to
become active in the performance of their . . . functions." 1
So pump-priming, as the word indicates, is intended
as an antidote to depression. And on this theory there
are two schools of thought. One, the so-called "pump-
priming" group, strictly, advocates a large increase in
public spending during depression, without a correspond-
ing decrease during times of prosperity and recovery.
The other, and the one with which we are concerned,
since its principles are followed by the present Federal
government in its pump-priming program, may be called
the "balance-wheel" school of depression spending. The
economists of this group maintain that the total amount
of public works expenditures during a business cycle
should not be greater than the amount that would ordi-
narily be spent over a similar period of normal years,
but that the amount spent annually should be increased
during depression, and decreased correspondingly during
recovery and prosperity. "Briefly, the theory is that pub-
lic works construction, (construction under public juris-
diction), expenditures for which are controlled by legis-
lation, should be withheld in prosperous times and re-
leased during the periods of depression to reduce the
influence of depression." 2
Since depression is invariably characterized by de-
creased business activity and withholding of new funds
for investment and the necessary acceleration of business
activity, the problem is to encourage business to resume
its ordinary pace. And by these Federal expenditures, it
is hoped to create direct and indirect employment and
increase production, until this quickening of the business
pulse inspires private enterprise to take over its normal
activities. Further, the system of increased spending in
depression, when business activity is subnormal, and de-
creased spending in prosperous times, when business
activity is frequently abnormal, is designed to act as a
balancing weight on the fluctuations of the business cy-
cle, making the downswing less acute and checking a too
steep and unsound prosperity climb. "The effect should
be a tendency to check profits in periods of prosperity
and therefore to moderate the upward swing. During
depressions, on the other hand, their expenditures should
help maintain the general level of consumption." 3
Under the present system of pump-priming pursued
by the Federal government, three principal methods are
employed to bring about the hoped-for business recovery :
direct relief, public works and financial manipulation,
chiefly through Reconstruction Finance Corporation
In the first of these, relief, government funds are given
directly to the unemployed working on various so-called
"manicuring projects," i.e., work that is "created" for
the particular end of giving employment to the unem-
The economic effect of this relief, in relation to the
national economy as a whole, is chiefly to maintain pur-
chasing power, since about 80 per cent of all relief ex-
penditures falls directly into the hands of the workers
The second type, public works, consists in the erection
and construction of permanent public buildings, improve-
ment projects, such as flood-control systems, and all pub-
lie construction whose direct end is the stimulation of
business. It is distinguished from relief by several factors:
the permanency and utility, generally, of the work done,
the employment of qualified workmen, and the higher
percentage of expenditures for material. 54.9 per cent
of expenditures going to cost of materials used.
Since over half of the expenditures for Public Works
goes for the products of industry, particularly the capital-
goods industries, public works' stimulatory stress is on
the revival of the capital-goods industries, which are not
directly affected by the increased purchasing-power given
by relief money, most of which goes into consumption
The third of the measures taken by the government to
stimulate business was the extension of credit through
the Reconstruction Finance Corporation, in the form of
loans to public authorities and public works enterprises
of municipalities and to private enterprise.
The budget of the RFC for 1934, which may be used
as typical, showed that the great bulk of RFC loans are
to private enterprise. Of total expenditures of $1,691,478,-
0Q0, $67,431,000 went to state and municipal public
works projects, while the great bulk, $1,624,047,000,
went to private enterprise. But these loans to private
enterprise were not directly for the stimulation of pro-
ductive enterprise; the entire $1,624,047,000 went to
financial institutions, in the form of direct loans and the
purchase of their securities.
So the effect of RFC activities in their relation to the
general program of business stimulation may be said
to consist chiefly in the stimulation of credit activities,
loosening of credit rigidity, and strengthening of the
A typical year's deficit spending was that of 1938;
in that year the Federal government spent about $3,000,-
000,000 for what it terms "Recovery and Relief." Of the
$3,000,000,000 earmarked "Recovery and Relief," one
and a half billion went for the present relief programs,
and the rest for public works and any expansion of the
relief program that was necessary.
The economic effects of pump-priming are manifested,
in general, in four ways: increased consumption pur-
chasing, and, therefore, increased activities in the con-
sumers' goods industries, increased capital-goods activity,
increased investment, and, as a result of these three, a
general increase in business activity.
Before discussing each of these factors, it would be
well to pause and point out a fundamental characteristic
of all government pump-priming systems, namely, the
insignificance, in terms of physical quantity, of the sums
expended by public authority in relation to total national
income. In 1936, at the peak of Federal deficit spending,
public works contributed $3,200,000,000 to a total na-
tional income of $63,800,000,000. The effectiveness of
public spending, therefore, is not dependent on mere
quantity, but on other factors, the most important of
which is proper timing. The opinion of economists on
just what stage of the depression is the proper one for
the application of Federal spending is divided, according
to the individual's theories about the business cycle and
depressions. Those who maintain that depressions form a
useful function in purging the economic system of un-
healthy conditions would wait until the upswing has
commenced and then accelerate it by increased spending.
Those, on the other hand, who believe that depressions
are not self-corrective and are harmful to the economy
would start the pump-priming early in the depression.
In this latter group are the economists who guide the
present Administration's policies.
Further, the ultimate effectiveness of such a program
must depend on the restoration of business confidence
and willingness to expand its activities. Since such an
insignificant portion of the national income as pump-
priming contributes in sheer quantity cannot be expected
to carry the business trend upwards on its size alone, it
must have the effect of giving business confidence in the
future to such a degree that business itself will take
over, as explained before.
Undoubtedly, Federal deficit spending increases con-
sumption purchases, since it directly contributes between
a billion and a billion and a half dollars yearly to the
consumption incomes of the United States. And, more
important, these purchases hearten the retail dealers,
who in turn hire more men, thus relieving unemployment
and increasing the purchasing power of these new em-
ployees, who in turn purchase and continue the cycle,
like the ring of ripples widening around a stone cast
into a stagnant pool. How far those ripples of business
activity will extend, however, is dependent, as previously
emphasized, on the increase in confidence on the part
of business men themselves. Income has been increased
considerably by this program, total income of wage earn-
ers in 1933, the year of the inception of Federal pump-
priming, being $29,296,000*000, and in 1936, $41,250,-
000,000. Work-relief contributed, directly, 3.3 per cent
of the 1936 income; indirect computation, of course, be-
Consumption purchases, however, are not the most
important part of depression recovery. All through Amer-
ican economic history, it has been the pace of activity
in the capital-goods industry which has been the index
of economic prosperity. Permanent recovery comes only
with real recovery in the capital-goods industries, with
their high labor factor in relation to the small labor fac-
tor in many of the more heavily mechanized lines of
consumption goods production and their large share of
the total industrial capitalization of the national econ-
omy. Further, it is in the heavy industries that the great-
est unemployment exists. And, as we noted before,
capital-goods production is not directly affected by in-
creased consumption goods purchases. Therefore, relief
expenditures do not, alone, contribute sufficiently to total
business stimulation to bring about genuine recovery. It
is through public works activities, with their direct stim-
ulatory effect on the capital-goods industries, that final
recovery must be effected.
The question of pump-priming's stimulation of the
capital-goods industries is a question of degree, not of
fact, since it undoubtedly does stimulate it to some ex-
tent. The general result of pump-priming, increased busi-
ness activity, must make itself felt in the capital-goods
industries. Further, the fact that pump-priming in the
form of public-works contributes about half of its $1,500,-
000,000 annual expenditures to the direct purchase of
the products of the capital-goods industries materially
aids those industries.
But the chief need of the capital-goods industries, with
their relatively low turnover and high fixed-capital
charges, is new investment. Whether pump-priming
meets this need, or whether, in fact, it may not defeat
its own end by hindering investment in certain fields,
is best discussed in its proper place, with the discussion
of the effect of pump-priming on investment. It is worth
noting, however, before going on, that, de facto, capital-
goods activity has not been restored to its normal place
in the national economy. In 1937, with industrial pro-
duction at the same level as that of 1928, capital-goods
purchases were 20 per cent below the level of 1928.
The vital point, for our study, is this: has government
pump-priming favored and stimulated investment, par-
ticularly in the capital-goods and utilities industries?
First, there are the plain facts, unadorned by any analy-
sis of the casual interplay behind them. Investment has
increased since 1933, the natal year of pump-priming.
In 1933, total corporate issues were $381,600,000. In
1936, they were $4,631,900,000. In 1929, however, they
were $11,592,200,000. In 1928, industrial production was
at 100 per cent, and new capital securities total $7,818,-
000,000. In 1935, industrial production was at 98 per
cent, new private capital issues at $2,267,400,000, only
one-third of 1928's new issues. And, according to David
Jordan, in his Investments, the average annual demand
for new capital is between ten and fifteen billion dollars. 5
So it may be safely stated that, no matter what pump-
priming has done to stimulate consumers' purchases and
re-employment, it has failed to strengthen and encourage
the investment market that is so vital to industrial enter-
prise. The capital-goods industries and the utilities, vital-
ly dependent on investment, have not been benefited to
the extent that the consumers' goods industries have been.
Several factors may be cited to explain this failure of
investment to keep stride with other phases of American
The first one, although by far not the first in impor-
tance, is the simple physical fact that less than one-fourth
of the government's expenditures have gone to the direct
aid of the industries needing investment. Of the $3,000,-
000,000 spent annually on business stimulation, $1,500,-
000,000, or one-half, goes to purchases of consumer's
goods, and of the remaining one-half, only $750,000,000,
or one-fourth of the entire total, goes to the purchase of
the goods of the heavy industries. So they are not
strengthened by the increase in business activity; their
financial position, not being materially aided, does not
warrant any great increase in the issuance of new secur-
ities, and consequently, the assumption of new liabilities.
The chief reason, in the opinion of many authorities,
for the failure of pump-priming to restore investment
activity is that the confidence of business in the security
and opportunity of the future has not been restored.
There is, on the part of a great group of investors, a fear
of the basic soundness of the Federal government, if the
present fiscal policies are to be pursued in the future.
They fear inflation when the steadily mounting debt
comes due, and are uncertain of the future of the mone-
tary policy. And of course, debt burdens on industry are
increasing steadily each year, even though $34,000,000,-
000 of the government's present $36,000,000,000 debt is
in long term obligations. Debt service on this sum alone
amounts to $1,000,000,000 annually, however.
A very definite indication of the existence of this fear
was given in the behavior of the securities market last
November, when stocks and bonds reached the highest
peak of activity in several years immediately following
the considerable Republican gains in the November elec-
Pump-priming, of course, is not the sole cause of the
uncertainty and fear, but it is, probably, the major cause,
because it contributes the greatest portion of the annual
deficit. For 1937, for instance, the Federal government
received $5,294,000,000 in receipts and spent $8,446,-
000,000. Of this total expenditure, the item of "Relief
and Recovery" composed $3,077,000,000, practically the
A third important factor which has contributed to the
failure of pump-priming to restore private corporate in-
vestment to its normal level is the competition offered by
government bonds, which, tax-exempt, and the highest
grade security in the country, have a tremendous appeal
to rich investors, who are benefited by the tax-free posi-
tion when buying in large quantities, as they do. And the
rich investors comprise the chief market for securities;
2.3 per cent of the families of the United States, those
having yearly incomes of over $10*000.00, contributed
over two-thirds of the total savings of the country.
So, as H. G. Moulton has pointed out, "a large portion
of the savings of indjviduals and business corporations
has gone to finance government deficits." 6 In 1928, total
corporate issues amounted to $7,817,800,000 and total
Federal government issues to $63,900,000. The 1936 total
corporate issues declined to $4,632,000,000, while gov-
ernment issues made the tremendous leap to $1,120,700,-
000, one-fourth of the issues of that year.
So it is plain that, as we noted originally, pump-priming
has, to some extent, increased investment. But a further
analysis of this fact has indicated that it has not restored
it to its normal pre-depression relationship to the rest of
the economy, and may, perhaps, have actually hindered
it in various ways.
The fourth effect of Federal business stimulation
spending, increased business activity, is the natural se-
quence of the operation of the three primary results,
i.e., increased consumption purchases, increased capital-
goods activities, and increased investment. The general
relationship of pump-priming to business activity is
shown in Table I.
Relationship of Pump-Priming to the Business Index
(Add 000,000 in money figures)
1933 1934 1935 1936 1937
Business Index 68 73 85 104 111
Total funds spent for
Recovery and Relief $1,276 $4,002 $3,656 $3,290 $2,846
From this table it can be seen that the business index
has risen in proportion to Federal spending. The low
initial response in 1934 to the 1933 spending was rem-
edied by the favorable response in 1935 to 1934's greatly
expanded rush of government funds. From then until the
spring of 1937, the index gradually rose, while Federal
expenditures were gradually decreased. Although the
table does not reflect it, since its 1937 average is high
owing to early gains, in the summer of that year, the
government decreased its expenditures by $40,000,000 a
month, maintaining that level until December, 1937. And
from July, 1937, the date of the decrease, until Decem-
ber, 1937, the business index dropped steadily, tumbling
from 122 to 83 over the six months period, a 45 point
drop. With the resumption of pump-priming at 500 mil-
lion a month, in July, 1938, the index immediately began
to rise again, remaining today in the 90s. Certainly this
intimate co-relation of spending and business activity in-
dicates a casual relationship between the two.
In summary, we have seen that Federal deficit spend-
ing for the purpose of stimulating business is intended
as an antidote to depressions; that it hopes to stimulate
business, not by sheer quantity expenditures, but by
spending these sums when private business fears to ex-
pand, hoping by this policy of releasing new money to
increase purchases of consumer's goods and activity in
the capital-goods industries, and that this increased activ-
ity will result in private business finding new confidence
and assuming itself the burden of recovery.
The two chief types of spending, that through relief
and that through public works, have the double effect
of stimulating consumption purchases and capital-goods
activity. The first, relief, has been effective to a great ex-
tent, as the increase in wage-earners income and general
business activity indicates. But permanent relief can come
only through genuine recovery in the capital-goods field,
and this recovery is helped by public-works expenditures!
However, investment is the chief need of the capital-
goods industries, and investment has failed to recover to
the extent that the rest of the economy has. And until
investment and capital-goods activity do recover fully,
recovery itself will not be complete or sound.
1 Arthur M. Lamport, in an address to the New York State Chamber of Commerce,
Conflres,sional Record, vol. 83, p. 3986.
2 Construction Expenditures and Unemployment, 1925-1936, Works Progress
Administration, 1938, p. 1.
3 Arthur Gayer, Public Works in Prosperity and Depression, p. 319.
4 McCabe and Lester, Labor and Social Organization, pp. 258-262.
5 Lavid Jordan, Jordan on Investments, p. 3.
6 H. G. Moulton, The Formation of Capital, pp. 136-137.
• Autry D. Greer
IT was spring. The early morning was warm, and
the air smelled clean and fresh, and sweet with the
odor of newly turned earth and fruit trees in bloom. A
mild wind rustled leaves that were still damp with dew,
and the sunlight, as it filtered through the leaves and
branches of giant, moss-draped oaks, formed quivering
shadows on the white sandy road. Beneath these oaks,
crickets droned in a treble key from the grass and thicket
jutting the road from the freshly plowed farmland, and
an occasional thrush rustled the foliage of the thicket in
search of food.
To the west, hills loomed through a blue mist, and
showed jagged scars where fire had raked the wooded
As the two of them walked, George kicked up the
loose, white sand of the road and watched the myriad,
glistening particles fall back to earth.
"It's a fine morning, isn't it?"
"It surely is," said Ellen smiling.
"Just think, we'll be at the top of the big one in the
middle by noon," George said as he pointed to the hills.
They walked on in silence for a while and George
glanced at Ellen beside him. She was small, but well-
built. The sun rays made little lights play in her taffy-
colored hair, and without makeup, her long slender face
was clean and shiny.
Ellen looked again at the hills.
"Are we really going to walk all the way to Evans'
"Sure, why not? We've got plenty of time."
"But we haven't any lunch."
"We can get some food at the little store near the top,
and eat it by the lake. It'll be fun."
"Let's just walk to the foot of the hill, George. It is
nearly seven miles to the top of that place."
"Why do you mind, we've got all day. If you had some-
thing else to do, you should have stayed at home and
not come this far."
"Let's not fuss, George."
"Okay, but I don't get many holidays, and when I do
get one, I like to do something worthwhile. Besides, it'll
be fine exercise."
"Yes, I know, but I'm not used to walking fourteen
miles in one day," Ellen said.
An automobile horn blew and George pulled Ellen to
the side of the road.
"Don't be so rough," she said.
"I'm sorry, I just wanted to get you out of danger."
A Model T sputtered by. It was driven by an old man
wearing a battered, stained felt hat and overalls; two
small boys sat in the back seat. All three looked at George
and Ellen as they passed, and the boys said something
to them they couldn't understand. The couple got back
in the center of the road.
"The Duchess is in a high temper this morning, I be-
lieve," George said, looking askance at her.
"No, I'm not, you just didn't have to grab me that way."
"I repeat, the Duchess' cup of bitterness runneth over
on this lovely morn."
Ellen flushed: "George, I'm not mad, and please stop
calling me that horrible name."
"If the Duchess was not in a high temper, methinks
the Duchess is now," George said, smiling to himself.
Ellen stopped walking and faced him : "George, if you
are going to act this way, I'm going back now."
"All right, Sweet, we'll be friends, I was only jesting
The road wound through patches of scrub oak and
pine. It sank down into a small wooded valley and at the
bottom of this declivity was a stream crossed by a rick-
ety, wooden bridge. In quiet pools near the banks of the
stream, green lily pads floated; some with blossoms
shaped like spear points, white at the base and saffron
tipped. Bay and laurel trees leaned over the dark, sinewy
water and cast still darker shadows on the surface. The
stream moved swiftly at the middle, and where it eddied
over roots and logs, gurgling, silver bubbles were formed.
In the shallows, the sandy bottom could be seen, and light
through the water gave the sand beneath a golden hue.
"I'm thirsty. Let's drink some," George said.
"It looks too black and nasty, I don't want any."
George grunted at this remark. He left the bridge and
carefully slipped down the clay slope and knelt at the
water's edge. He scooped the cool watey to his lips with
cupped hands. It tasted clean and was refreshing.
He felt that she was looking at him. He turned : "Don't
you want some?" he asked. She looked away but did not
answer. George drank again and then walked back up on
the bridge. He put his arm around Ellen's waist and felt
her body stiffen as he pulled her to him.
"How about a kiss, Sweet," he said.
"No," she said, turning her head.
"We aren't doing so hot, are we?"
"Let's go," Ellen said, as George released her.
"Maybe, you'd really like to go home," he said, looking
"I think I would."
"Well, why don't you?"
Ellen hesitated and then looked up into his face : "Do
you want me to go back by myself?" she asked.
"I don't mind."
"All right, I will."
She turned and walked back along the road. When she
had gone some distance, George started to call her back.
He could see that she was crying.
"Goodbye," he called.
Ellen didn't answer. He watched her climb the slope
until the grove of oaks hid her from sight. George walked
to the rail of the bridge and looked at the water. He
picked up a lump of clay left by an automobile tire on
the bridge, and tossed it into the water. Particles of it
dissolved and followed the current, but the large nucleus
sank unevenly to the bottom. Then George started on
towards Evans' Point.
"This isn't quite the day I'd planned," he said aloud.
"I hope I didn't hurt her too badly — they are certainly
Act of Contrition
A sonnet translation of Ignatius Loyola's
"Acto de Contricion"
The heav'n above which You have promised, God,
Does not inspire the love I have for Thee ;
Nor does that fearful Hell, my fate to be
Should I trespass, upon my conscience trod.
But You alone can bow me to the sod —
You and Your murder on the fateful tree ;
Your body, torn and bleeding, is to me
A sign : for us You welcomed death and rod.
And last, Your love for me would force return
Though Heav'n never were ; and even if no Hell
Existed, fear of You I'd have to learn ;
I need no spur — unfed my fire would burn ;
And though the hope I hope has heard its knell,
My heart with love burns on ; it cannot spurn.
— Edward Balthrop.
• F. Taylor Peck
T? VE was the first propagandist. When she talked the un-
willing Adam into eating the forbidden fruit, she set
in motion a movement that has come down to us with all
the accumulated means, manners, and methods of the
ages. Today men are so propaganda-conscious and so
conscious of propaganda that one dares not lift a dis-
senting voice, nay, even a critical voice, and remain free
from the stigma of "Propagandist !"
In the broadest and most inclusive sense propaganda is
the deliberate attempt of a person or persons to influence
or mold individual, national, or international opinion to
conform with his own ends. In a democratic state propa-
ganda has a definite social function. It is a democratic
essential that voters reach deliberate and intelligent de-
cisions on matters of public concern, and this is accom-
plished only after lengthy deliberation, debate, and time.
To this end all means of communication are utilized. Po-
litical opponents air their respective views, experts com-
ment on the situations, and newspapers carry the issues
before the people. The results of this propaganda is gen-
erally shown in the election reports.
Nevertheless, most people are prone to think of any-
thing the next-door neighbor tells them is propaganda as
subversive and worthy of nothing less than immediate
annihilation. It is this very disinterestedness that has
made this nation the especially fertile field for propa-
gandists that it is today. The difficulty will not be solved
by the mere division of propaganda into good and evil.
Many times the evidence is insufficient to warrant a de-
cision one way or another, but it is possible to learn, in a
small part at least, the nature of several types of propa-
ganda that fill the air about us, thus assisting in the estab-
lishment of a cautious attitude, if nothing else.
The most common medium for propaganda is talk.
Everybody talks. Everybody has the right to express his
opinion, but it is not the talking that is paramount. Very
few people are immensely impressed by plain facts. Rath-
er it is the tendency to search for illusive, recondite
threats, and obscure insinuations. Things are very often
seen as the seeing would like to see them, and thus the
purpose behind modern propaganda is to get the public
unconsciously believing, then burst forth with the violent,
repressive, and destructive type that means death to all
At opposite ends of the scale of war propaganda, the
chief type of interest today and by far the most influen-
tial are found the super-militaristic organs of the total-
itarian states and the defeatist "peace-at-any-price" atti-
tude of those Utopian, unrealistic persons. Not that peace
is not most desirable nor even unattainable, but its in-
trinsic weakness and indecision lend greater opportunities
for aggression. When this attitude appears in the leaders
of a nation, it may be a screen to hide the fact that these
leaders have no real solutions to offer to problems. The
thought that the country might be "sold-down-the-river"
is not exactly a sedative for national nerves. For an ex-
ample of the heated, emotional and demanding language
of the super-militarist, just tune in Europe on your radio.
Another type of propaganda that lends itself to the
creation of international uncertainty and one that strikes
very close to home, is the variety characterized by sud-
den, complete, and illogical reverses in opinion. Our na-
tional foreign policy, if one can hold it long enough in
passing to name it, is not only most confusing to the peo-
ple at home, but it is positively demoralizing in its effects
upon European politics. European dictatorships prosper
on the fact that our indecision leaves European democra-
cies with hands tied. Isolationism is a most pleasing the-
ory. Internationalism is a most disappointing and costly
one. European propaganda would drag us in on one
hand and keep us out on the other. The same is true of
the propagandists at home. Consequently, we are always
wondering just where we have been, and where we will
end up next.
Therefore, with these main and general types of propa-
ganda before us, we may make some sort of guiding clas-
sification system under which we catalogue the various
opinions to which we are subjected. By no means should
there be the general doubt regarding everything that is
heard or read, but neither is it desirable that we continue
to regard all that is read and heard as fact. It has been
said before that it is one thing to desire deception, and
another thing to desire something that will involve decep-
tion. Hence, let the byword be, "Remember Eve!"
Again There Is Laughter
• David Loveman
IN the procession of years that had been his life
Peter Semmes had grown hard and cynical. He
had known suffering and death, bitterness and despair
so often that his knowledge of rampant disappointments
had formed a shell about his heart. He was not old in
years, yet his age was beyond conception. He had lived
before his time, and the screaming fall of a plane had
sent him home from the war blind, and sick, too, with
the realization of the hopelessness and futility of his
He wrote poetry. It served as a mirror of his inner-
being, reflecting in its polished meter and flowing smooth-
ness heartfelt agony and despair. Each day, after dicta-
ting to his secretary, he would sit for an hour or so in
his garden, blind to the successive springs and summers
and the falls and winters that blanketed the world about
One day he sat alone and the wind bent the poplars
and a bird flew across the evening sky.
"Peter!" The voice came with the wind — soft and low.
"Peter, I am here."
"Mary! Is it you?"
"Of course, my dear. Who else?"
"But Mary, how long it's been. How long!"
"Yes, Peter. It has been years since we talked together,
since you held me that night and said 'I love you.' Do you
"Don't!" He rose and his voice was hard and cold.
"I can't stand it. I've made myself forget. I won't remem-
"You must, my dear, you must. Listen to me and re-
member that night so long ago. The moon was on the
sea and we stood alone — together ..."
* * *
It was their last night. Tomorrow, he would leave for
France and the front. Only a few hours in which to live
a lifetime! How swiftly they were gone! And yet, the
parting was not so bad. They were young, and war was
romantic, and life promised so much. At the ship, she
kissed him goodbye and was lost in the crowd. There
were letters and pictures to make the ocean that sepa-
rated them as nothing. But one letter was not in her hand
and he felt a fear steal into his heart that the guns and
shells and gas had failed to arouse. She was gone. She
would not be at the dock to meet him when he returned.
She was dead. Machine guns rattled and a lone star
blinked through the darkness.
Later he went up in his plane and the rush of air past
his face was cool and sweet but they could not brush
away the tears that filled his eyes. And through his tears,
he could not see the planes of the enemy that swooped
down upon him. A flash ! A stab of pain ! A whirling dark-
ness! For him, the war was over. His eyes could see no
"I remember, Mary. The years have come back again.
And the memory is not hard. It was the effort to forget
that has cost me my youth and my laughter."
"You will laugh again now, Peter. We will laugh again,
"Yes, Mary. Give me your hand. It is dark. I cannot
He felt a hand in his that was cool and strong and
comforting. He moved and his eyes were opened and he
saw her before him, just as he had done on that night
by the sea.
They walked into the evening.
And within the house, the secretary heard the sound of
laughter, gay and free and filled with happiness, and
wondered at the sound.
They found Peter the next day, deep in the woods.
The leaves had fallen to cover him where he lay and his
eyes were open as if he saw. He was smiling.
• Stockman O'Rourke
"... if I was to choose the people with whom I would
spend my hours of conversation, they should certainly be such
as laboured no further than to make themselves readily and
clearly apprehended and would have patience and curiosity to
understand me." — Steele.
FEW people have really savored the joys of true
conversation. This, obviously, is a statement that re-
quires considerable proof. It may come as something of
a shock to those who are accustomed to regarding all
the talking they do with their friends and acquaintances
as conversation. This, I submit, is not only a serious fal-
lacy but a regrettable delusion — a delusion, by the way,
which is all too common.
Nothing is further from true conversation than the talk
of certain windy individuals (I do not mean windy in
the sense of something broad and sweeping like a trade
wind but something narrow and gusty like a draft)
who are interested only in what they have to say and re-
gard the occasional responses of their companions as
something to be merely tolerated as one of the necessary
evils of social life. Such a one spends the time during
which he is theoretically listening in preparing new verbal
ammunition. When two such persons meet, the result is
not a conversation but what may be called, for want of
a better term, a double monologue.
Included in the aforementioned class are those who
consider conversation as a sort of secular confessional.
Their talk is a complexus of long drawn out trials and
petty tribulations. Malny long-suffering listeners have
nominated them as the worst of those who have turned
the pleasant art of conversation to their own morose ends.
Away with them, say I; and let them be anathema. Their
cries for mercy are drowned in the reverberating echoes
of their own perpetual laments.
Related to this first class of individuals is that pale and
wishy-washy person known as the "good listener." I say
he is related because it is he who gives aid and comfort
to our windy friend, the monologist. The "good listener"
considers that he has discharged his whole conversational
duty if he has started his companion on the latter's fav-
orite topic. Once this is done, all he need do is lean back
in his chair and listen (or at least seem to listen). This is
all well and good in its way and it has many advantages,
not the least of which is the opportunity it provides of
enjoying a good nap with a droning monotonal accom-
paniment. Of course it must be only a gentle doze for it
is entirely possible (I shall not say probable) that the
speaker will eventually exhaust even his favorite topic.
Seriously, however, this is not conversation. The "good
listener" encourages one of the worst of conversational
vices. He is himself a parasite upon the conversational
tree sapping its vitality, stunting its growth, and pre-
venting it from blossoming forth.
Having shown by examples what true conversation is
not, I may now not unreasonably be expected to show
what true conversation is. For a preliminary idea on
this subject I refer the reader to the aforementioned
quotation from Steele, a man of sound common sense.
However, with all due respect to the good Sir Richard, I
hope I may be permitted to enlarge upon this notion a
bit. In so doing, I take it as a maxim that the underlying
factor of true conversation is a meeting of minds. There-
fore, we must not only express our own thoughts but
we must give careful consideration to the thoughts of
our companion. Further, the true conversationalist does
not enter into a conversation with an unshakable deter-
mination to present a fixed train of ideas. He adapts him-
self to the drift and mood of the conversation. He con-
siders his companion, not as a passive target for his
conversational darts, but as a foil upon which to test his
own weapon. Far from enjoying a mere personified af-
firmative as a conversational partner, he seeks out those
who have enough backbone to defend their own ideas
and challenge his. This is important for in true conver-
sation there must be repartee. We must strike the flint
of our minds upon the steel of our friend's mind. But
there must be moderation withal. Conversation is not
Now out of these disjointed reflections there comes to
me a thought of how the art of conversation has a bearing
upon the serious affairs of this world. Are not many of
the misunderstandings of this world due to the fact that
we either do not listen to what our opponents have to
say or else we read into his utterances the meaning most
agreeable to ourselves? I believe so, and therefore I
insist upon the importance of careful and sympathetic
listening. Failing to weigh carefully and patiently the
words of others, we are gravely unjust. We are guilty
not only of intellectual laziness but of something more
serious, intellectual dishonesty. The true conversational-
ist is never guilty of this. He is both a good listener and
a good talker with a dash of something else besides. He
is a gentleman.
spring if til (fuarferhj
G. STOCKMAN O'ROURKE, '39
Managing Editor Business Manager
JACK T. HALLADAY, '39 AUTRY D. GREER, '40
Edward Balthrop, '40
'41 Caldwell T. Delaney, '41
Frank B. Rauch, '41
Thomas F. Sweeney, '39
John L. Mechem, '41 Frank Kearley
Charles A. Isaac, '39 Redmond J. Reilly, '40
John L. Bacon, '40
Alfred O. Lambeau,
Paul V. Byrne, '39
N. C. La Fleur, '40
F. Taylor Peck, '41
David J. Loveman, '42
Edward W. Leslie, '39
John De Ornellas, '42
VIVA IL PAPA
On March 2, the tolling of bells from
550 churches in the Eternal City an-
nounced to the world that a new Pope of
the Catholic Church had been elected. On
that day His Eminence Eugenio Cardinal
Pacelli became the 262nd Pope and be-
gan his reign under the chosen name of
Pius XII. The wide coverage given this
event throughout the world by means of
radio, newspapers, and moving pictures
attests to the interest which the world
gives to it. The whole world, and espec-
ially the Catholic portion, knows the wise
guidance that they can expect from the
seat of Saint Peter.
The new Pope comes to his office after
a career distinguished not only by long
and brilliant diplomatic service but also
by great priestly qualities. He is distin-
guished for his scholarly attainments
speaking half a dozen languages fluently.
As papal Nuncio to Germany during the
trying and perilous days following the
World War he did great service, and the
concordats that were signed mainly
through his personal efforts did much to
increase the prestige and influence of the
Church in Germany. His service as Sec-
retary of the Sacred Congregation of Ex-
traordinary Ecclesiastical Affairs was as-
siduous and highly successful. As Papal
Secretary of State under Pope Pius XI,
he did eminent work in carrying out
the policies of the Supreme Pontiff. In
spite of his arduous duties he found time
for preaching and hearing confessions in
the colleges and institutes in and around
Pope Pius XII had a great devotion to
both the person and policies of Pius XI,
and he may be expected to continue along
the same lines as the late Pope. His se-
lection of Pius as a name is an indica-
tion of this. The fight for a Christian
peace based upon the principles of justice
and charity will go on with unabated zeal.
Projects which had their start under
Pius XI will be carried to fulfillment un-
der Pius XII. The enemies of Christ need
expect no relaxing in the vigilance of
their opponents. The friends of Christ
need fear no lack of guidance. Another
Pius is ready to lead them.
POPE PIUS XI
On February 10 there departed from
this life a great and holy man — Pope
Pius XI. For seventeen years, with all
the strength and zeal of one endowed
with an indomitable will and supported
by the grace of God, he labored for his
Church. Now he goes to his everlasting
Pius XI was a lover of justice, he had
a keen intellect combined with a deep
knowledge of human nature, and he had
a fatherly affection for his flock. The
annals of his life are one long record of
service to his beloved Church. He was
born in 1857 and spent the first sixty-one
years of his life in obscurity as a parish
priest and Vatican librarian. Then in 1918
he entered upon a period which in four
years brought him to the papacy. As-
suming for his own the name which sig--
nifies "peace," he spent the evening of
his life in carrying out the exacting and
responsible duties of his office. His reign
was truly a great one.
The world had forgotten Christ and
without Him nothing was possible. Pius
made it his supreme task to restore
Christ to the world and the world to
Christ. He established the Feast of Christ
the King. He wrote his great encyclicals
on Christian education, Christian mar-
riage, and the Christian social order.
Under him, the missions of the Church
were extended more widely than ever.
He gave new life to the movement toward
spiritual retreats for laymen. All these
things were not mere theories and doc-
trines with the Pope. He took active steps
to see that they became realities. His
first desire was to make practicable the
Probably his greatest achievement was
in the promotion of the doctrine and
practice of Catholic Action. Through this
he secured the participation of the laity
in the apostolate of the Hierarchy. He
was ever anxious for the laymen to take a
greater part in the spiritual life of the
Church. Pius was truly the shepherd of
his flock, the father of his children.
The world now mourns and will con-
tinue to mourn for many a long day the
passing of the late Pope. It is very
proper that the world should mourn his
death, but it would have been better if
the world had listened more closely to
the living voice of the Holy See. If it
had, the peace of Christ would reign in
the world, and the evils of these limes
would not be so grievous.
PEACE IN SPAIN
News dispatches bring the happy news
of an early end to the war in Spain.
Matters have reached a state where the
Leftists have only the alternatives of
continuing their futile resistance or im-
mediately surrendering. The bloodshed
and destruction are now practically over
and the war has been brought to a con-
summation most devoutly to be wished.
In 1936 the newly "elected" Red gov-
ernment was failing miserably in the
promotion of the eommon good. Spain
was headed for the chaos of Marxism.
Subversive doctrines dominated the gov-
ernment and the Spanish people were
denied their religious and political rights.
At that moment Franco and his follow-
ers rose against the frenzied hate and
blood lust of the Reds. They proceeded to
wage a just war against the atheistic
Communism which threatened Spain.
During the course of this war the
forces of Franco failed to receive in
many countries the support which up-
holders of law and order and religion
might expect to receive. In the United
States propaganda for the Reds and
against the Nationalists disguised the
true motives of the conflict and distorted
the news from the battlefields. This same
propaganda was silent about the assas-
sination of innocent priests, nuns, and
laymen by the so-called Loyalists. Fic-
tional accounts of atrocities said to have
been committed by the Nationalists were
foisted upon the American public while
the outrages of mobs under the direc-
tion of the Communist International
went unreported. Only the Catholic press
remained staunch against this flow of
Now that the end of the war is at
hand it is to be hoped that the world will
come to realize the real issues back of
the war in Spain. It is to be hoped, too,
that it will give sympathetic cooperation
in the rebuilding of Spain. Then there
can come into being, as Franco says, "a
fraternal Spain, an industrious and work-
ing Spain, where parasites can find no
lodging. A Spain without chains and tyr-
annies: a nation without Marxism and
Communism; a State for the people and
not a people for the State."
STATE STOCK LAW
The legislative session now sitting at
Montgomery conveniently shelved a state
wide stock law that would have empow-
ered the state highway commission to
enclose all state roads not already fenced.
The gentlemen from the open-range
counties at Montgomery do not seem to
realize that their action has injured the
reputation of the State of Alabama. They
do not seem to know that serious acci-
dents have happened as the result of
livestock wandering aimlessly along the
highways. Vehicles have been wrecked
and lives snuffed out all needlessly be-
cause rural legislators fear their consti-
tuents. It is convenient to plead the pov-
erty of their constituents, even if the
excuse were reasonable. But stock laws
in the North and West, and even in the
South, have not forced stockmen to the
wall. Indeed the only real hardship
worked on the stockman is a little incon-
venience and the expenditure of a few
paltry dollars spent on a few strands of
barbed wire fastened with staples on
fence posts that may be cut from local
The situation is anomalous. Not only
are cattle, sheep, horses, mules, goats,
hogs, and fowl allowed the right of way
with impunity, but the motorist who al j
ready has been taxed for the construc-
tion and upkeep of the highways, is also
made responsible for damages done to
livestock. Is this reasonable and just?
Still waters run deep,
They say, and yet
How seldom do we know
How deep; how rarely
Do we probe beneath the surface
Too oft still waters run unnoticed,
And their depths
Hide romance long unknown.
Down by the Gulf the Pascagoula
And in its depths
There is romance.
For long ago when the land was free
And the Indian ruled supreme
It was the home
Of a proud and honored people.
Their tepees by the Gulf
Knew only peace, and the Pascagoulas
Then in the night
With the stealth of a fox
The fierce Biloxis camq
And took them as they slept.
The braves died fighting for their homes
And all they loved;
But as they passed
They left behind them greater misery.
Their wives and daughters,
Left alone, became the slaves
Of men who knew no honor.
But as they marched before their captors
They sang, and in their song
They raised the war-chant of their tribe
And swore in oath
That they would die
Before they lived as slaves.
Then as they came to the river
And their chant was raised to a scream
Each woman caught u,p a child
And plunged, still singing, in
To sink until her chant
Was drowned with her and fell
At last into the depths.
Now when the surface is ruffled
And the wind is low
Sometimes you can hear
The chant, like a ghost
Wandering over the water
And haunting the river Pascagoula ;
Lingering to mark the spot
Where still waters flow
And time forgets the Singing River.
Bad History Makes Good Verse
• Thomas F. Sweeney
JUDGE the other of his sonnets as you will, Milton's "On
the Late Massacre at Piedmont" stands for all time a
literary monument. If the prime test of a poet is his
ability to write a great sonnet, as Hilaire Belloc asserts,
then Milton has with one mighty blast of his trumpet
dispelled any doubt as to his poetic genius. From the first
rising surge of "Avenge, O Lord !" to the breaking crest
of "Early may fly the Babylonian woe" the sonnet sweeps
on with a mighty roll of poetry.
Avenge, O Lord! Thy slaughtered saints, whose bones
Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold;
Even them who kept Thy truth so pure of old
When all our fathers worshipt sticks and stones,
Forget not: In Thy book record their groans
Whe were Thy sheep, and in their ancient fold
Slain by the bloody Piedmontese that roll'd
Mother with infant down the rocks. Their groans
The vale redoubled to the hills, and they
To Heaven. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow
O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway
The triple Tyrant: that from these may grow
A hundredfold, who, having learnt Thy way,
Early may fly the Babylonian woe.
What a mighty roll of verse is this! No wonder that
Wordsworth says of the sonnets of Milton that "in his
hands the thing became a trumpet whence he blew soul
animating strains." It would be difficult to find in any
language a sonnet that vibrates as much power. The poem
lives. We know immediately it is great poetry.
However much we may admire this piece of verse, in
all justice we cannot overlook its occasion without com-
ment. The incident behind the sonnet is the massacre of
the Vaudois, or Waldenses, by the Duke of Savoy because
of their refusal to abide his command either to give up
their religion and return to the Church, or leave the
The massacre did take place. It was bloody. In the
history of mankind it was a regrettable event. All this
cannot be denied. Yet prejudiced critics have so harped
upon the incident and have so stretched it out of propor-
tion, calling it typical of that Anti-Christ, the pope, that
an explanation is in order.
It was commonly held at the time that the Vaudois, or
Waldenses, were primitive Christians converted by Paul
on his journey through the Alps. They were thought to
have kept the primitive faith through the ages while the
Church of fhe Popes grew worldly and "worshipt sticks
The legend is entirely unsubstantiated. Peter Waldes,
in the twelfth century, after reading the New Testament,
decided to heed Christ's command to be perfect. He sold
all his goods and donated the proceeds to his relatives.
His action drew about him followers, mostly poor men,
who with him began to practice apostolic poverty. All
this was laudatory. But Waldes and his disciples began
almost immediately to preach, and having had no previous
theological training, naturally infused error into their
teachings. It was inevitable that the Church excommuni-
The Waldenses lapsed more and more into error, and
embraced many dogmas of Manicheism. They became in
reality the last vestige of the great heresy that rocked the
Middle Ages, and from which the Christian world was
Infected with an old sore the Waldenses were hated
and suppressed by their Catholic neighbors who desired
no more of this dreaded heresy. Besides, much friction
already existed between the Waldensian handful in the
Alpine uplands and the Catholics further downstream.
In the seventeenth century the ruling lord, tardily real-
izing the disorder in his province, finally took action.
Merging politics with religion, a proceeding all too com-
mon in his time, he issued an order to the Waldenses to
abjure their heresy and return to Catholicism or else
leave the country. He enforced his decree by dispatching
troops to the Alps where they massacred and spread ter-
ror among the Waldenses.
Impartial critics are inclined to view the Duke of Sa-
voy's action as not entirely unjustified or altogether too
severe. It was a time when the Thirty Years' War, so long
and bitterly fought, was just sputtering out. The incident
in the Alps was seized upon by both sides of the con-
troversy, Protestants as well as Catholics, as a point of
honor. The massacre was appropriate to the period, and
from the Duke's viewpoint, a necessary one.
An illustration focuses the point clearly. Suppose Com-
munism had been ravishing this nation for centuries,
causing untold misery and bloodshed, and only lately had
been stamped out. Since we were only now recovering
from the effects of Communism who would blame the
nation's ruler when, hearing of a fresh disturbance by a
smouldering ember, he order it extinguished?
When news of the massacre reached London, the Puri-
tan populace was shocked. Pamphlets flooded the city,
describing the massacre in minute details; illustrations
were drawn depicting the bloody scene. Cromwell ordered
a general fast to collect money for the Vaudois. Milton,
Latin secretary of the Cromwellian regime, wrote an of-
ficial protest to the Duke of Savoy. The massacre was
the talk of the city.
The official protest written by Milton is surprisingly
mild compared with his sonnet on the subject. The Latin
protest was the State's objection, the sonnet was his own.
His personal anger seems to have been increased by the
general furore. He was much affected by the pamphlets
and illustrations circulated in London as the references
in the sonnet indicate. It was in this mood that he com-
posed one of the most powerful bits of poetry ever writ-
Yet there is nothing in the thought, or imagery, or
wording that strikes us so deeply as the humble material
Milton used, and that in a plain, outspoken way. He used
but one thought based on a frayed quotation from Ter-
tullian, "Plures efficimur, quoties metimur a vobis; semen
est sanguis Christianorum." 1
What is the appeal of this sonnet? It lacks the felici-
tous expression of "Lycidas" or "Comus," nor has it the
massive goldwork of the "variously drawn out verse" of
"Paradise Lost." A few hazy images and a succession of
hackneyed biblical phrases pass in review, but these are
mediocre and defects which the poem swallows up in
"The splendor of this piece of verse," writes Hilaire
Belloc, "lies in its sound." This is the prime reason. "It
is the rolling of an organ, sustained, modulated, appeal-
ing, overawing from the first line to the last." The swel-
ling of omega upon omega are the "soul animating
strains" that Wordsworth speaks of. The succession of
such words as "moans," groans," "old," "bones," and
"soul," "woe," and the images these words conjure up
are the things that "give the notes to glory." 2
Yet Belloc does not give the poem its just due in making
sound its only attraction. Sound alone, no matter how ex-
cellent it is, must be supported by something else. The
poem must have a substance, something that sustains
the sound. "On the Late Massacre at Piedmont" really
has this needed substance. It has something more than
1. The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church.
2. H. Belloc, Selected Essays, Philadelphia: Lippincott & Co., 1936,
mere sound to commend it. Into this sonnet Milton
breathed an angry breath, and the lines have recaptured
the vibrant emotion.
Although both the idea behind the poem and the bib-
lical phrases are stale, they are blended into a back-
ground for the emotion and lend it the tone of a page
from the Old Testament. We are unconsciously reminded
of the Hebrew summoning the Lord to take "an eye for
an eye, a tooth for a tooth." The stern Puritan with an
angry voice calls upon the God of Justice to avenge the
bloody massacre of His sheep. Without knowing why, we
are led to sympathize with his righteous wrath against
the "Babylonian woe." Though based on distorted facts,
bad history does make good verse.
"On the Late Massacre at Piedmont" does attract by
the vibrant passion of anger expressed restrainedly with
a biblical sonorousness. With Mark Pattison we say that
From this sonnet we may learn that the poetry of a poem
is lodged elsewhere than in its matter, or its imagery, or in
its words. Our heart is here taken by storm, but not by any
of these things. The poet has breathed on us, and we have
received his inspiration. In this sonnet is realized Words-
worth's definition of poetry: "The spontaneous overflow of
3. M. Pattison, Sonnets of Milton, New York: D. Appleton & Com-
pany, 1896, p. 59.
She Knew Him Best
• Louis J. Maloof
IT would seem rather superfluous for anyone to try-
to add anything more to the thousands — one could
even say millions — of tributes that have already been
spoken and written to the happy memory of the late
Holy Father. Truly Pope Pius XI was a great man — so
great, in fact, so universally loved and venerated, that
never before in civilization's history had the globe draped
her axis, from pole to pole, with the crepe of sorrow, and
shed tears of regret as she did when she knelt at the bier
of that tired, weary, little old man of Vatican City.
The world knew and loved Pope Pius from the time
His Holiness first donned the tiara of the Holy Roman
Church and blessed humanity with the Apostolic Bene-
diction. But there is one who knew him best. There is
one who loved him most. You might have seen her — that
is, of course, had you ever been in Rome when the Pontiff
was celebrating Mass in Saint Peter's Basilica, or when
His Holiness had chosen to add to the solemnity of some
great occasion with his presence.
But perhaps in the concourse you probably would not
have paid any particular attention to her, for she is not
very unlike the many other little Italian women, heads
draped with silk and lace mantillas, that one meets in
and out of the various holy shrines. Yet, if it just hap-
pened that you were near by when this little old woman
entered the doors of the basilica, you would notice that
the church attendants always gave her a knowing nod,
and you would see the native women's faces brighten as
she passed them. You would somehow feel that they were
going to curtsy to her as though she were a queen.
There is much to know about this little old woman. She
moved to Rome soon after Damien Achille Cardinal Rat-
ti, Archbishop of Milan, was elevated to the Papacy on
February 6, 1922. She is of sturdy, Lombardy peasant
stock; yet there is something about her that makes one
think of nobility. The one interest that she had on earth
was Pope Pius. She had known the Pontiff all his life : as a
boy in Desio, in northern Italy; as a student at Saint
Peter the Martyr and the Lombard seminary at Rome.
She was present on that happy day, December 20, 1879,
when, unknowingly to that joyful congregation, a future
occupant of the Chair of Saint Peter was ordained to
the Holy Priesthood. When later Father Ratti became
head of the Ambrosian, and subsequently the Vatican,
libraries, she visited him frequently.
This little woman reached, as she then believed, the
acme of her joys when, after serving nobly as Apostolic
Nuncio to Poland since October 28, 1918, her prelate was
called to Rome and on June 13, 1921, created Cardinal
and Archbishop of Milan. Little did she know then that
in less than nine months the one occupying the warmest
spot in her heart would be elected Pope, and on Febru-
ary 12, 1922, be crowned as the 261st successor to Saint
Peter and Vicar of Jesus Christ. The deafening cries that
arose from the multitude on that memorable occasion,
eternally engraved on the flesh of her heart and un-
stifled by time and space, are still echoing in her ears:
"Viva il Papa! Viva il Santo Padre!"
It now seemed to this little woman that she lived in
another world. Nothing that the Pope said or did ever
escaped her attention. When he was sad, she was sad;
when he wept, her heart was broken ; when he seemed
tired and weary in his constant battle against evil, she
cried herself to sleep as she fingered her rosary beads for
him. But it is said, too, she would never be so happy as
when she would see the Pope surrounded by the great
and small, all looking to him for guidance, for spiritual
She often came to chat with the Pope. She was always
at his side when he needed her. She called him "Your
Holiness." No one ever refused her admittance. The Vat-
ican guards all knew her. They would step aside to let
her pass even at times when high prelates would not be
admitted. Often, too, the guards would seem to salute
It was now Friday, February 10, 1939. Rome, the eter-
nal city, was yet at rest. The winter sun was slowly be-
ginning to creep from beyond the hills, seemingly in re-
sponse to the chimes of the Angelus. As she recited her
prayers, this little old woman must have thought there
was something peaceful about the atmosphere — that cer-
tain peacefulness that somehow seemed to tell of rest
after a long and weary night.
Hastily, someone knocked at the door. "Mi perdoni!
You are wanted at the Vatican at once, Signorina!" Sud-
denly, the great bells of Saint Peter's began to toll.
The scene now changes to the Papal Palace. Still stand-
ing, some kneeling, around the simple bed of the dead
Pope were those who but an hour before had received the
Holy Father's last blessing. Present were the Cardinal
Camerlengo, Monsignors Diego Venini and Carlo Confa-
lonieri, papal secretaries; and several others^, among
whom were Vatican physicians, two faithful monks who
had nursed the Pope during his illness, and two Swiss
guards, one on each side of the Pontiff's bed.
Quietly the door of the dimly lighted death chamber
opened. Silently this little old woman entered. She paused
but did not survey the room as was customary. Quickly
she focused her attention on one person — but he was
dead. She stepped forward. One of the Pope's secretaries
approached to sustain her steps. She reached the bedside.
Emotion overtook her. No one tried to restrain her. Tears
streaming down her cheeks, she fell to her knees, sob-
bing, praying, and devoutly kissing now his hands, now
his feet. "She was," the newspapers tell us, "the most
grief stricken of all who knew him."
Slowly, a bit hesitantly, a Cardinal approached the
little woman, already his eyes heavy from weeping. Gent-
ly, he tapped her on the shoulder.
"Donna!" he called softly.
Respectfully, though not turning her head away from
the dead Pontiff, still sobbing, she nodded assent.
The Cardinal leaned over to assist her to rise ; but as
he did so, once more she kissed the dead Pontiff's hands
and feet. As His Eminence gently lifted her to her feet
and led her from the room, she was heard to whisper be-
tween sobs: "Adio, Damiano Achille, mio fratello!"
She was Donna Camilla Ratti. The Pope was her bro-
• Jack T. Halladay
FLORENCE! Florence Lane!" The young man's
voice was filled with surprise as he rushed toward
the girl standing at the toy counter. She turned towards
him, stood for a moment with a blank look, then sudden-
ly extended her hands as her eyes lighted up :
"John! Johnny Roger!"
They both fumbled for each other's hands, somewhat
hampered by a huge Teddy Bear she had bought, the
hat in his hand, the pleased confusion of sudden reunion
after a long separation.
Roger stumbled for words while Miss Lane spoke rapid-
ly: "I recognized you by your voice, but it's changed
from treble since I last saw you ! You've grown so tall —
and your hair's darker. Gee, it's good to see you!"
"It's good to see you, Florence," Roger answered, and
then added: "I'd recognize you anywhere, even though
you're a grown up lady now. You walk the same, your
nose has its same tilt — you're nearly the same now as
when you were eleven. You're 19 now, aren't you?"
"Yes, it's been that long." Miss Lane looked at him
wonderingly. "We seem to remember each other well
not to have seen each other for eight years. And we only
knew each other as kids."
"Yes, but what kids!" laughed Roger. "Remember how
A sudden coloring crossed her face, as if she were
both loathe and pleased to have the subject mentioned.
Miss Lane was suddenly aware of the fact that a hand-
some, brown-headed young man stood before her instead
of the tow-headed childhood playmate.
"Come on, Flo, let's go to a restaurant and recall old
times. This calls for some kind of a celebration. Got
She replaced a toy she had nervously picked up, smiled
into his face and took his arm. A few minutes later they
were together in a booth, letting food get cold as they
recalled with warmth the days of their childhood.
Roger frankly remarked, "I had the prettiest girl of
any boy in the gang." For the first time in years Miss
Lane felt coy and silly. The feeling crept into words :
"We were silly, weren't we?"
"Oh, I was desparately in love with you," Roger said.
"You know, you were the only childhood sweetheart I
ever had. At twelve I thought I would be grown at six-
teen, and of course 1 was going to marry you on my six-
Miss Lane burst out with uproarious laughter, and all
the restraint of eight years separation slipped away. The
stranger before her became an ardent, brown-eyed boy.
"Marry me at sixteen?" she mocked. "You weren't par-
ticularly averse to marriage at twelve!"
It was Roger's time to flush. "I was awfully serious at
the time, wasn't I? Your family was moving away and I
couldn't bear to see you go. It was New Year's Eve ..."
"... and we were going to be married at midnight!"
"... I had never stayed awake until midnight before!"
"... and I had never heard the New Year's bells!"
Their eyes were shining and both laughed loudly. The
rest of the cafe was forgotten. "It was a swell romance,
wasn't it?" John said.
"So sweet and silly. We were so serious. We waited on
the living room couch, and talked of the future, and
watched the hands of the clock."
"From nine until nine-thirty was the longest half hour
I ever spent," said the young man. "The prospect of mar-
riage and the New Year weren't enough to keep me
"No, they weren't," Florence smiled sweetly. "Mother
waked us up at one. "No marriage, no New Year's bells,
no wedding bells. I thought it had been a dream."
"It did seem like a dream. I was hardly awake — my
mother was telephoning franticly about me, and your
mother was scolding you for staying up so late when the
family was moving the next day." Roger laughed rue-
fully, as if he still felt his childhood tragedy. "Speaking
of dreams, that was the worst part of it. Remember what
you said when we were saying good-bye the next morn-
"That was mean of me, Johnny. I was all excited about
going to another city, a big city, and I suddenly felt so
"You said, 'Forget what we dreamed last night.' " The
faintest trace of a rueful boyish smile crossed his ruddy,
shaven face. "You were on the furniture truck — smiling
as you rode out of town."
There was a pause. "What are you doing tomorrow?"
Miss Lane smiled again. "Shopping. Only three days
to Christmas, you know."
"Mind if I help you?"
"I suppose my ex-fiance deserves that much attention."
"Even jilted people have some rights," Roger replied.
Christmas arrived in a swirl of snowflakes, of red and
Three days of shopping, tying packages and decorating
the Lane Christmas tree fled by as only the days before
Christmas can. So busy were Roger and Miss Lane that
eight years were scarcely discussed because of the greater
importance of toys and presents.
Christmas came and went, with the sweethearts of
childhood constantly together. Christmas Week presented
a gay round of events — a ball the day after Christmas, a
hockey game, a skating party, luncheon together, another
trip to an ice resort, another Christmas Week dance.
It was at this last dance, one of the last of the old
year, that found Johnny and Flo talking more and more
about each other— about his law studies, about her pos-
sibilities of having a singing career, about the future and
"Johnny, this has been the happiest Christmas of my
life," Florence said. "We've done so many things to-
gether, had so much fun."
"It's been the pleasantest Christmas vacation I ever
had. It's like the week we spent at Uncle John's with
swimming and watermelons every day."
"Oh, it's even more fun. We couldn't have swum then
as much as we have skated and danced this week."
"I'll hate to go back to law school," Roger said. "It's
like a second separation."
"Oh, we'll see each other often," Florence said but
watched his face earnestly.
"I don't know," he replied glumly. "Me in college and
you expecting that radio job. It'll take us to different
"iLet's wind up the vacation in grand style, then, John-
ny. Let's go to the New Year's Eve dance over in Parker."
The pleasant prospect ejrased the seriousness from
Florence continued: "Besides, I don't have to accept
that radio job, even if I get it. A career would be nice,
but . . . "
Roger cupped Miss Lane's face in his hands: "That
New Year's dance will be swell."
The dance, as gay as any welcoming the New Year,
was up to their expectations. Florence was radiant in
white satin and John looked ridiculous in his conical hat
which made him look seven feet tall.
"It's New Year's Eve, Florence," Roger whispered.
"It's our anniversary, John," she answered.
They whirled across the floor in silence.
"Are you dead set on being a radio star, Flo?"
"I'd like to, but I should have gotten an answer from
my audition by now."
"You know I graduate in June, Flo."
John faltered in his dancing. Suddenly the orchestra
started to play an old tune, which had been revived for
the swing age.
"That tune, Flo— how old is it?"
"About eight years."
"Everything is conspiring against us, Florence."
Miss Lane began to laugh. "I'm a willing victim, John-
Mr. Roger took several amazing steps across the floor,
lifting her bodily. Then he stopped dead still :
"It would be a perfect ending, wouldn't it?"
It was a proposal and an acceptance, felt hy both, but
scarcely put into words.
They finished the dance with sailing hearts.
"Grab your things, honey. It's an hour to midnight!"
"Think we'll make it?" Florence asked.
"If we drive across the state line to the 'Marryin' Jus-
tice.' It's a 20-minute drive."
"I'll even consent to being married by the 'Marryin'
Justice' just to be married on this night," Florence
laughed, her eyes glistening.
"You're in wedding white now," Johnny said. "A
Church wedding couldn't have a prettier bride."
"Let's drop by my house, get a few things, and then
we can drive right on to Laneau for a honeymoon. It's
five days before you go back to college."
For assent John grabbed her arm and they dashed for
the car. Ten minutes later the auto was purring towards
the state line.
"I only got a toothbrush and nightgown," Florence
said, half serious and half giggling. "I wrote a note for
mother. From what she has said these last few days, I
think she was expecting this."
"Think she'll like her new son-in-law?"
"Of course she will. Boy and man, you have had ac-
cess to her cookie jar! She left me a note also, but I
didn't take time to read it."
"Read it in the morning. With this one arm driving and
a justice of the peace to wake up, we've got plenty to
"We'll be hearing the midnight bells soon — our bells.
They'll always mean more to us than just New Year's
Her gay laughter was stopped short by a loud report
and the car began to bump along the road. They looked
at each other with sinking feelings.
"Never mind, darling. I'll have it fixed by midnight,"
John said. He got out of the car and then let out a loud
groan : "The tire is ripped wide open."
"Put on your spare, John."
"A college jalopy never has a spare, Flo," he replied
glumly. He climbed back into the car. "No spare, no
traffic to flag — honey, it looks like our midnight marriage
"Darling, eight years ago we didn't worry about a
parson. Our imagination was enough then. Let's pretend
we are being married when the bells ring out."
"And promptly go to sleep," said John bitterly.
They sank back into silence. In the distance bells were
dimly heard — joyful bells which had an air of sadness
as they were heard from afar.
"Relax until morning, Johnny. It won't be the first
time we slept through the time of our wedding vows."
Their talk grew quieter. Somehow the flat had taken
the wind out of their sails. They did not know when they
ceased to talk about the morrow, but they were awakened
with the sun in their faces, and looked at each other in
They sat for a while in silence, except for a sweet
good morning. John's tie was awry ; there was a tear in
Florence's white satin dress. It seemed that at any mo-
ment Florence's mother would shake them awake and
tell them they had slept into the New Year on the fam-
ily's living room couch.
Florence's upswept coiffure was astray like her braided
hair on that morning eight years ago. The sun showed
boyish freckles on John's face.
I hear a horn, darling. Maybe I can flag a ride for us."
He clambered out of the car and waved vigorously. A
load of furniture was driven resolutely by. Johnny
watched it disappear down the road.
When he returned to the car Florence was reading a
note. She handed it to him. It was from her mother:
"Florence, the radio station called and you have landed
the job. You start your singing January 4."
John searched her face. Finally he spoke:
"Moving again, huh?"
"Yes, honey, I think you had better forget the second
Intrigue, sabotage and rumors of war litter news stor-
ies, columns and editorials, so it is rather refreshing to
pore over items that do not disturb peace of body and
mind . . . An Arabian king, owner of 250 wives, has a
200-room palace equipped with bath and electrical ap-
pliances minus the running water and electricity . . .
Four truckloads of men without a country deserted Red
Spain's international brigade to seek service in the
French Foreign Legion with a view to a change of climate
and lodging . . . English convicts at Dartmoor study for-
eign languages to carry on (perhaps) correspondence
with lifers abroad ... A man condemned to be guillotined
gained a temporary stay when Paris' official executioner
succumbed to old age . . . An emergency operation per-
formed on an Indian prince by a London surgeon flown
to Bombay for the occasion cost His Excellency £ 50,000
. . . Moscow decrees death to all its vagabonds . . . Well,
that's one way of disposing of unfortunate bums . . . Cata-
lonian officers fleeing Spain with pockets and suitcases
crammed with purloined jewelry and gold were arrested
as they crossed the French frontier ... A 250-pound giant
has become a thorn in the side to the Italian army of
occupation in Ethiopia. The dark leader is the commander
of one of Ethiopia's strongest rebel units.
The cheapest thief in St. Louis trice passed plugged
quarters on a blind newsboy in one day ... A Mobile
Negro, stabbed eighteen times, managed to stop his
assailant by a well placed leg bullet ... In Los Angeles a
police marksman's warning bullet went through the ears
of two automobile-propelled suspects . . . The residents
of a Catskills' hamlet faced possible eviction as their town
was put on the block.
Crime prevailed in several instances . . . Santa Monica
(Calif.) jaywalkers have so baffled police that the guard-
ians of the law have abandoned their anti- jay walking
campaign ... It costs 35 cents to arrest a man in St.
Louis, but $633 will not convict him ... A Cleveland
burglary specialist steals nothing but shoes . . . Officers
of the law were taken to task when two Oklohoma high-
way patrolmen discovered they were guilty of the mis-
demeanor they stopped a motorist for — only one head-
light was working . . . Mobile is afflicted by an epidemic
of purse snatching . . .But crime doesn't always pay . . .
A New Jersey police captain arrested his son for part in
a hold-up . . . G-men are now employed to ferret out
cattle rustlers and horse thieves . . . The victims of an
attempted hold-up in Mobile frustrated the stick-up
artists by slamming a door in their faces . . . Trapped by
his pants caught in a door an Omaha burglar ripped off
the offending members and fled into the sub-zero night
... A Mobile burglar caught in the act of taking a bath
leaped out of a window to safety.
Publicity is still given marital tangles ... A California
labor leader, gaoled twenty-two years, decided to dis-
pense with a faithful wife as soon as he was freed . . .
A New York woman, kept waiting two hours on a street
corner, slashed her admirer with a razor when he finally
appeared . . . An Alabama matron filed suit for divorce
on the grounds that her husband kept a vicious rattler
as a pet . . . Another woman won a divorce when she
testified her erstwhile mate accused her of entertaining
when one of the strings he tied around their porch was
broken . . . Montana, greedy for a share of divorce money,
passed a bill to grant divorce after thirty-days' residence
. . . Because thrill seekers packed his court to hear the
woes of domestic tangles a Cleveland judge put up a
"standing room only" sign after removing spectators'
Experiments occasionally have drawbacks ... A young
Indianapolis woman developed a red nose when she trans-
ferred vaccine by scratching a vaccinated arm to an
abrased nose by the same process ... Laboratory rats
at the University of North Carolina got drunk after
breathing in alcoholic fumes . . ., On the other hand Yale
biologists report that women can stand hot and cold tem-
peratures much better than men.
When Tommy plays with your heirlooms and trinkets
something is bound to happen ... In Evanston (111.) a
small boy started a plumbers' probe of the water system
to discover just where the youngster dropped a $4,000
wrist watch . . . Children broke into the headlines in
more than one way ... In Vermont's state capitol a chil-
dren's lobby awed state legislators into voting down a bill
that would demand licenses for bicycles and play-vehicles
. . . Fearing to go to school with his lessons unprepared a
Maryland schoolboy committed suicide ... In Arkansas a
farm boy murdered his grandmother because she crit-
icized his family ... In Pennsylvania another youngster
hopped a freight for Florida and ended up in an airtight
box car at Peabody (Mass.).
Oddities even affect the world of sports . . . While
Spring Hill was losing a close decision to the Fairhope
Legionaires two Mobile girls' team engaged in an 84 to 1
game ... A mouse brqke up another girls' basketball
game in North Carolina . . . Two Missouri high schools
played a basketball game in a snowstorm ... In a small
Ohio college two co-eds made the varsity fencing team.
Death comes to every man in some way or other . . .
A Kansas City man, having lost his taste buds, killed him-
self because he could no longer enjoy his food . . . Two
Coloradans, trying to thaw out dynamite, were killed
when it exploded ... A Texan, forgetting he had rubbed
his rheumatic body with kerosene, expired as he lit his
Odds and ends ... A strong wind stopped Milwaukee's
City Hall clock . . . San Quentin convicts went on strike
when the prison's menu didn't satisfy them . . . Maryland
matrons object to jury duty on the grounds that their
husbands will protest if they are locked in a room with
male jurors . . . Wandering away from Jersey City's stock-
yards a peace-loving bull entered a boiler factory where
he went berserk until hogtied by a Jersey cop . . . The
well dressed woman requires twenty pairs of hosiery a
year ... A mental lapse cost an Arkansas inkeeper sev-
eral five dollar bills. He had stored them in a shotgun bar-
rel and blew them to smithereens as he fired at a stray
dog . . . New Orleans' new Charity Hospital unaccount-
ably sank nine inches since its construction . . . WPA
artists will decorate New York's subways with murals
and sculptures, provided their modernistic art does not
include pink elephants . . . Alabama will change its State
Seal because it was designed by a Yankee major in 1868
... A rattlesnake, submerged eighteen hours in alcohol,
awakened and bit his Oklahoma "preserveress." . . . One
South Carolina farmer discovered that he couldn't grow
a field of tobacco sown with mustard seed ... A shotgun-
toting policeman protects from rattlers and alligators a
Baton Rouge golf club proprietor as he seeks errant balls
in the palmettos.
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Spring Hill Quarterly
VOLUME I SPRING-SUMMER, 1939 NUMBERS 3-4
DREGS (free verse) Caldwell Delaney 4
NEVER TRUST A BLONDE (short story) Stockman O'Rourke 5
AMERICAN DOMESTIC ARCHITECTURE EAST
OF THE MISSISSIPPI (essay) F. Taylor Peck 8
THEISM: A BASIS OF MORAL
CIVILIZATION (essay) Stockman O'Rourke 13
END OF YESTERDAY (short story) David Loveman 19
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS (essay) John L. Mechem 38
MEDIAEVAL INSTITUTIONS (essay) Frank W. Julsen 47
ANTE-BELLUM NATCHEZ: ITS ARCHITECTURE
(essay) John B. Goetz 56
IS O'NEILL ANTI-RELIGIOUS? (essay) Jack Halladay 62
A LAY . . . (short story) F. Taylor Peck 65
CIECRO: HIS PERSONALITY (essay) Alfred O. Lambeau 67
THE ARCHITECTURE OF MOBILE (essay) Caldwell Delaney 74
GENTLEMEN, MY CARD! (short story) Edward Balthrop 80
CHURCH AND STATE: THE KULTURKAMPF
(essay) Fred Schell 84
WIDENING VISTAS (satire) 95
PRESS GLEANINGS 99
THE SPRING HILL QUARTERLY is published in December, February, April, and June
by the students of Spring Hill College. Subscription: one dollar the year, thirty cents
the copy. Address all communications and manuscripts to THE SPRING HILL QUAR-
TERLY, Spring Hill College, 'Spring Hill, Alabama. Entered as second class matter
under a temporary permit, December 22, 1938, at the Post Office at Spring Hill, Alabama.
Being some vernacular observations in alleged free verse
Is a queer thing;
It makes people who have been friends all their lives
Speak like total strangers.
One never knows
How many things there are
Floating around the house
Looking for some place to light
Until he sets up
A card table
For some overnight work.
There is no other pain so poignant
Which is felt by the owner
Of a new Easter hat
When she arrives late
And is forced to sit
In the gallery.
So gaily debonnaire
In getting in my hair.
(Also apostate, but beyond suppression)
To A Portrait In Oils
Anemic lady so patrician
All lavender and lace
A little workout in the kitchen
Would add some color to your face.
• Caldwell Delaney
Never Trust a Blonde
% Stockman O'Rourke
MAYBE you've seen Chez Antoine. That's a pretty
ritzy name for a nice little eating joint just off Canal
Street in New Orleans. I always eat breakfast there my-
self on the way down to the track.
I am in there one morning not long ago dawdling over
a cup of coffee and gassing with Antoine about the chan-
ces of Show Girl romping home in the first race. Since
this race is not being run until 10 and it is only 8:30
now, I have plenty of time to waste.
I am telling Antoine, who has a few C's to put on the
ponies, that it is time for the filly to blow one after four
straight firsts when a late customer comes in, and he has
to leave. I am just putting my nose back into a tip sheet
I am reading (which personally, being a bookie, myself, I
don't put much stock in) when the said customer parks
himself at my table. Looking up, who should I see but
my old pal, Fred Bender.
Now, Fred and I have been buddies from 'way, 'way
back seeing as how we grew up in the same neighborhood
and are now in the same business — well, nearly the same.
He plays the stock market and I play the ponies. We
haven't seen each other for several months, so I order
another cup of Java, and we have a nice talk about horses,
dames, and the stock market.
Fred tells me about a killing he is going to make in
Amalgamated Gas Pipe, and I tell him about the new
way I have of doping out the races so that the ponies will
run the way I pick 'em. But I can see that he isn't listen-
ing, so I figure he has something else on his mind.
Suddenly he says, "Say, Joe, how're you getting along
with the dames these days?" Well, I've been knowing
Fred long enough to know that he isn't asking me this
because he really wants to know, so I answer :
"Oh, so-so. How 'bout you? Have you met your soul
mate, yet." Right then I can see that something's up. That
dreamy look that comes into his eyes isn't put there by
the sight of Antoine's special breakfast of hash and fried
"Listen, Joe," he breathes, "I've met the most wonder-
ful girl. She's a blonde and ..."
"Wait a minute," I interrupt, "Don't tell me you're get-
ting serious over some girl?" Of course, I know the ans-
"I was never more serious, Joe. We're going to be mar-
"M-married ! You're not going to be a sucker and let
some girl make you do inside loops around her little
finger, are you?"
"Aw, now, this girl is different. If you think . . . "
"Sure, sure, she's different. She's sweet and simple and
unkissed. Yeah, I know, and a dray horse is going to win
the Kentucky Derby." You may be surprised that I talk
to my pal like this, but I know women and want to do
him a favor. So I say, "Now, listen, Fred, don't you put
any trust in a dame — especially a blonde. Let me tell you
a pretty little story. Joey meets blonde. Blonde falls for
Joe. Joe falls for blonde. Love in bloom. Joe loses dough.
Blonde loses interest. Goodbye, Joe. That's the way it
happens, Fred. That girl swore she'd love me forever and
a day. But when I dropped my ten G's at the track, she
faded like a nag with a lame ankle. Don't be a sap, Fred.
All any dame wants is your dough. That's the way the
game is, and you can't beat it." Naturally, I feel like a
heel telling Fred this, but I am only trying to save him a
lot of grief. Imagine my surprise when he gets up from
the table and pats me on the shoulder.
"Thanks for the advice," he says, grinning, "but, if
you don't mind, I won't pay a bit of attention to it. Joe,
you're just cynical because your romance went sour."
"O.K. But don't say I didn't tell you," I splutter. "You
"Well, I gotta get going," he interrupts, "Amalgamated
Gas Pipe is probably 'raring to line my pockets right now.
So long. I'll invite you to the wedding."
That is the last I see of Fred for nearly two weeks.
During that time a lot of things happen to me. My luck
with the ponies begins to get better by leaps and bounds.
From the day I picked They're Off to beat Show Girl, my
roll begins to take on sizeable proportions again. But,
something better than that happens. Mary Lou — that's
my girl friend — and I make up. Of course, when she first
calls me on the 'phone, I think the fact that I have re-
covered most of my ten G's may have something to do
with her sudden friendliness. But, when she explains that
she left me just to teach me not to be so careless with my
dough, I realize how silly this idea is. Funny how a guy
can be so cynical about women.
Well, it isn't long before Mary Lou and I are just as
sweet on each other as ever. We take in all the races
together. We even begin to look at furniture together
which will give you a pretty good idea how things are
One morning I am sitting in Chez Antoine's waiting for
Mary Lou to meet me for breakfast. Even with ten G's
salted away, I like to gas with Antoine and eat his special
breakfast of hash and fried eggs. So there I am reading
my tip sheet (which I like to read although I never fol-
low it) when who should pop in but Fred Bender. Fred
is not quite so chipper and it's easy to see that things are
not so rosy as when I last saw him.
After the usual talk about the weather and the Euro-
pean situation, I decide to see if I can't find out what's
eating Fred. Thinking maybe he has taken my advice
about women and ditched his girl friend and feeling pret-
ty remorseful about the whole thing, I say, "Listen, Fred,
I want to tell you something. I was wrong about women.
My girl ..." Before I can finish, he snaps me up in a
"Oh, no, you weren't wrong! You were never more
right. I've lost everything on Amalgamated Gas Pipe, and
my girl left me. All she wanted was my money. And I
thought you were cynical." I can see he is pretty broken
up over the affair and, to tell the truth I am plenty sur-
prised to hear the way things have turned out myself. But
remembering how I was mistaken about women, I think
maybe he has gotten the wrong slant on this dame. So
"Fred, don't take it so hard. Maybe you're mistaken
about this girl. Maybe she's got some other reason for
leaving you. Say, she'll come back to you just the way my
girl did. Wait till you see my girl. She'll be here in a few
minutes and you'll see how sweet she is." But he isn't lis-
tening to me. He is staring at something over my shoulder.
I turn around and look, but I can't see why he should be
staring because it turns out to be Mary Lou coming into
"What's the matter?" I ask him.
"Let's get out of here," he mutters, "I don't want to be
in the same room with that gold digging ..."
"What the devil!" I gasp. "That's my girl, Mary Lou."
And then I get it.
American Domestic Architecture
East of the Mississippi
@ F. Taylor Peck
l^THEN man first realized the necessity for sheltering
' himself from the violence of nature, domestic archi-
tecture had its inception. The first crude dwelling began
the immense movement of such a varied structure that
is known to us today as domestic architecture. Ancient of
the most ancient, it is concerned primarily with the needs
of mankind for shelter, and in this way it is the source
most readily available and most easily cognizant to the
student of the customs and manners of the ordinary life
of a people. In similar manner it illustrates the influence
that climate and geographical conditions exercise upon
We in the United States are unusually fortunate in
being able to scan the entire field of domestic architec-
ture with a relatively unbiased eye and thereby are able
to discern more clearly the interplay of styles, periods,
and traditions that have filled the histories of the world
Yet it is, perhaps, this very advantage, combined with
our close technical scrutiny of the means and methods
of the architecture of other nations, that has blinded
many writers and critics to the evolution of native Ameri-
can domestic architecture. Another factor which may
cause those who search for a distinctly national style to
lament American imitation of European periods in domes-
tic architecture, is that there have developed several ar-
chitectural types which are distinctly American, and
which, although they are derived ultimately from Euro-
pean traditions, have no European prototype. These
styles have developed organically with the nation and
manifest such characteristics as to establish them original
to this continent. They have been built with native ma-
terials; they show evident climatic influences; and their
structural form, ornamentation, and planning, though
based ultimately on the European, exemplify naive and
charming originality on the part of the builders.
Regardless of how unified our States may be politically,
the United States is a land peopled by many races, and
it is only natural to expect that each group would employ
as much as possible the architectural traditions of their
homeland. These peoples are still in the process of fu-
sion. It is probable that this mingling of races will never
be complete ; therefore, we must expect to see the devel-
opment of several individual, distinctly American archi-
In addition to this variety of racial influences, it is im-
possible to assert just what conditions are typical of this
vast land. What climate, what landscape, what tradition,
what culture — what can be called typical of America?
Evidently, the answer to these questions must be nega-
tive. How can we expect, then, a style which is in itself
typical of the entire country to emerge, even after two
hundred years, and which will surplant both European
forms and tradition, the sources of American art? It is
natural, therefore, for several American styles to rise,
based on our European heritage it is true, but which de-
pend essentially and foremost upon the section of the
country and the cultural background of the people in-
habiting it. Please remember the relative size of the
United States and Europe.
Probably the first section of this country to achieve any
extensive architectural individuality was New England.
In this section of the small farm and the town meeting,
the influence of both Tudor and Jacobean architecture is
evident at the beginning of the development, but as the
first years of the eighteenth century passed, the classic
fashion (Georgian) penetrated the tastes of the people
until the older Tudor and Jacobean traditions became
completely dominated by the classic influence of Georg-
ian. Out of the admixture of these, plus the influence of
climate and native materials, evolved architectural forms
which have become associated inseparably with New
England. Three of these which are especially adaptable
to use in modern (contemporary) domestic use, are the
"salt-box," the Cape Cod cottage, and the traditional New
England Farmhouse, this last having numerous sub-
divisions in itself. These three have no prototypes in Eng-
lish domestic architecture, and the closest sources of de-
rivation are found in provincial English architecture. The
rigors of the New England climate account for the use
of central fireplaces, to preserve all the heat possible;
steep gabled roofs, because of heavy snows and conse-
quent moisture ; and the unusually sturdy construction in
beaming in order to withstand the storms that come in
off the Atlantic. In the early houses the builders used half-
timber construction and an overhang in the second story.
Both these English derivations disappear in the later
houses, because the colonists found the overhang un-
necessary in this country where land was so plentiful, and
the half-timber construction gave way to the full wood
frame and clapboard or shingle, since the latter was simp-
ler and less expensive.
When the New England coast grew prosperous in the
latter years of the eighteenth century, skilled craftsmen
became more numerous and wielded a consequent in-
fluence upon the tastes of the period. It was through these
men many of the classical influences made themselves
felt in the United States. Originally, these influences were
expressed only in exterior ornamentation. But as the
wealth grew, so did the native desire for luxury. The
great mansions of the merchants and sea-captains reared
themselves in excellent taste along the elm-shaded ave-
nues of towns until Georgian if not George, ruled.
A greater immediate variety of races settled in the
Middle Atlantic states than in any other section of the
country, especially in such a relatively confined area.
Each people tried to reproduce as nearly as possible the
houses of the old country, and in this way their national
backgrounds exerted an individual influence upon the
architecture of their states. Some succeeded in establish-
ing a tradition in America ; some did not. All of their at-
tempts are interesting and deserve study, but necessity
demands that we restrict ourselves to two types that have
found special favor, because of their flexibility and ap-
Dutch Colonial, the first product, is characterized as a
low building, given both height and grace by the long
sweep of the high gambrel roof. Since this type has be-
come an instrument of domestic architecture, dormer
windows have been added in the roof to provide light and
air for additional rooms under the eaves, a space used by
Dutch builders as a loft. The second important develop-
ment in domestic architecture of these states is traceable
to possible Welsh origins and is known to us as the more
or less non-committal "Pennsylvania." These houses are
built of stone found in convenient ledges which minimized
quarrying. A white wood trim around windows and doors
is accentuated by the irregular stonework, held by wide
layers of mortar between stones. There is no particular
standard when it comes to size and shape of these Penn-
sylvania houses. They may have none of the symmetrical,
box-like quality of many of the New England houses, or
they may be rigidly formal in character. They may be
small houses or mansions with many wings and variety of
roof line. The whims and the necessities of the builder
generally decided this.
When we enter the Southern Atlantic States, we meet
what many consider to be the peak of the development
of American domestic architecture. This architecture is
Georgian in its essentials, but the great freedom and in-
dividuality in its use by the cultured landowners of the
Southern colonies has engraved upon it the perfect seal
of American nationalism. The movement had its begin-
nings in pre-Revolutionary times and continued in popu-
larity until after the war of 1812 when our hostility to
England turned our eyes toward France and the Empire
for architectural inspiration. It is astonishing the man-
ner in which these pre-Revolutionary planters lavished
wealth and workmanship upon these mansions of un-
equaled Georgian dignity and elegant taste. Beside this
quiet dignity and stately elegance of the colonial aristo-
crats, the palaces of Europe seem displays of lavish gaudi-
ness. By these men were laid the foundations of the aris-
tocracy of the South, its vast landholdings and its immense
wealth and luxury. Through them passed the architec-
tural traditions that led eventually to the Graeco-Roman
Men of wealth from the Great Lakes to the Gulf of
Mexico found a new style in which to display their wealth
and culture. Given impetus by the Empire period in Eu-
rope, the revival found ready adherents in new Amecira. It
undoubtedly began as one of the many fadish movements
in architecture that have swept the United States, but
what distinguishes it from the others is that it found per-
manent place in the architectural traditions. What is
more, they were suited to the climate and temperament
of the builders of those times. And lastly, unlike the other
fads, it has adaptability for modern uses. Above the Ohio
River the designs of the initiators were followed more
closely, and the general form of the buildings are more
formal and rigid in style, and more superficial and arti-
ficial in ornamentation than in the South. In the Southern
States climatic conditions demanded high ceilings and
much shade. The Greek devices suited these purposes ex-
cellently, for the portico screened the unusual height of
the houses, and the many galleries softened the heat of
the sun, filling the interior of the houses with cool shade.
Therefore the Graeco-Roman modes were turned to new
and more elastic uses, connected in an organic way with
the architectural unity and necessities of the plantation.
The revival succeeded where the following age failed,
because it lent itself more readily to the uses and devices
of the individual craftsman, to modify and expand as he
saw fit, thus escaping the curse of mere archaeological
The decline of the Greek revival at the end of the Civil
War left the United States in an artistic vacuum, espec-
ially in regard to architecture. In England we saw the
harking back to the Medieval and the Gothic. The Vic-
torian influence was at its peak. Our colonial traditions
were beneath the consideration of the new wealth of the
North, and therefore were well dead. Unfortunately, the
jig-saw had been developed, and this instrument led us
into an era of monumental bad taste and monstrous ugli-
ness. There were undoubtedly some good things in the
Age of Horror, but there were many bad things, and the
bad, from this writer's view at least, completely obscured
The social ambitious American turned all shades of
green in envy of the European and his culture, and worst
of all, he tried to hide it behind a Gargantua of plate
glass, plush, cast iron, ginger bread, cat-tails, brown-
stone, and multitudes of absolutely useless junk. Man-
sard roofs are charming. Fieldstone towers are romantic.
Half-timber English is picturesque. Italian tiles are dis-
tinctive. Normandy turrets and Gothic windows are ele-
gant. But when these are thrown together with several
lightning rods and oxblood wall-paper, what do you
have? A picturesque Victorian Villa!
I thoroughly dislike to end on a sour note, but it seems
that it will be unavoidable. Nothing of architectural im-
portance has occurred in relation with the topic under
discussion, except possibly the use of pseudo-Renaissance
forms in many of the larger resorts along the Atlantic
coast, until we reach the early thirties of this century. It
was then that once again American architects began to
realize the great traditions and styles that lay at their
disposal in the colonial developments in domestic archi-
tecture. This subject is worthy of a separate treatment,
and I had intended to discuss to the best of my ability
some of the theories that have arisen in these past years
in relation to domestic architecture. But the views of con-
temporaries on the contemporary are always hazardous,
so we will let well enough alone. Also I have written in
my notes a discussion of American architectural needs,
as I see them, but they too must remain for some future
time. Finally, the last word of conclusion, I have inten-
tionally omitted any reference to Creole architecture on
the Gulf Coast, because of another paper on that allied
subject. Thus we end a general discussion of the rise and
development of the American tradition in domestic archi-
tecture, from the earliest forms in New England to the
close of the Victorian Age, east of the Mississippi.
Theism: a Basis of Moral Civilization
• By Stockman O'Rourke
IN these days when men are wont to gaze at one another
in wild surmise and declare that the very foundation of
modern civilization is threatened, it is well to ask our-
selves just what this foundation is. War clouds hover
angrily on the horizon, might treads heavily upon right,
refugees roam homeless through the world, and virtue
has been swept to the scrap-heap of mediaeval illusions.
It is evident then that the complicated structure which
we call civilization shows signs of decay and is in danger
of an all too imminent collapse. We, as wise architects,
must look first to the foundation, which has lain neglected
so long that many have forgotten what it is. Once this
foundation has been examined and renewed, we can then
turn our efforts to repairing the superstructure.
The thesis of this article can be stated briefly thus:
Theism is the best, nay the only solid foundation of moral
civilization. Upon this belief in the existence of a Supreme
Being rest all orderly and stable societies. Upon it rest
the permanent distinction between right and wrong, the
respect for individual rights, and the true brotherhood of
men. We shall examine the several theories which have
been offered as a substitute for Theism and, having seen
wherein they fail in their object, we shall show how
Theism fulfills this purpose sweetly and thoroughly.
Prominent among the theories which seek to replace
Theism as the basis of moral civilization is the utilitarian-
ism of such men as Jeremy Bentham and James Mill.
These men and their disciples place the end of morality
in "the greatest happiness of the greatest number/' Ac-
cording to this theory, man seeks the well-being of his
fellow men in order that he may find his own happiness.
Since it is natural to man to value his own life most and
to seek his own happiness first, it is natural that he should
follow that course which will result in his own aggrandize-
ment. However, being a social being, man cannot find his
fullest "self-realization" in himself, so he must seek it
in cooperation with others. Therefore, in seeking the de-
velopment of humanity in general, man achieves his own
This, then, is the utilitarian answer to the problem of
morality. What a noble conception we have here! Man
is friend to man because he cleverly foresees future advan-
tage. Where is the obligation here? In its most altruistic
form this philosophy is based upon mere sentiment or
feeling and in its most egotistic form on calculating poli-
cy. In neither case does utilitarianism satisfy the idea of
obligation or duty which is the only proper meaning of
At the door of Auguste Comte must be laid the blame
for one of the most pernicious systems of morality. Under
the name of Humanitarianism, it has spread widely and
rapidly through the influence of such writers as Spencer,
Huxley and Wells. It is, in its barest essentials, a dei-
fication of man, and a turning of men from their final
end to this world as an end in itself. The answer of Hu-
manitarianism to the question of "Why should I be mor-
al ?" is "For the sake of Humanity." It lays emphasis upon
the brotherhood of man and pure altruism.
In spite of the beautiful sentiments mouthed by these
philosophers, they have nothing sound to offer as a basis
of morality. Under what obligation am I to be good for
the sake of Humanity? What absolute or obligatory value
can Humanity give to morality isolated from religion?
These irreligionists are powerless to enforce what they
perceive to be necessary. Their "morality," moreover,
being confined within the narrow limits of space and time,
is stripped of all permanent value. Humanitarians can-
not even offer us a serious inducement, much less an ob-
gation, to lead a moral life.
Kantian idealism offers a substitute for Theism which,
on its face, seems rather plausible. Its norm of moral
conduct may be stated thus: Perform onlv those acts
which can be adopted as a universal law. This norm is
imperative and unconditioned ; and it speaks to us imme-
diately, for we are conscious of its commands. It rests
not on any external motive or on speculative reasoning
but on its own autonomous authority. Through it we
come to an immediate realization of our obligation to
strive towards the highest perfection which our mind is
capable of conceiving. In the face of this categorical im-
perative, as Kant termed it, we must waive all argument
and render implicit obedience.
As a practical criterion for determining modes of ac-
tion, this categorical imperative has its importance but
as a fundamental basis of morality it utterly fails in its
object. It may seem imperative to Kant and a few other
devotees of transcendental thought, but who contends
that it will seem so to the universality of mankind? Even
if men in general should conceive such an idea, they
could easily dismiss it as a mental illusion. No mere men-
tal state exerts authority over mankind in general. Final-
ly, Kant's norm still leaves us confronting the ultimate
"why" of morality.
We may dismiss without discussion the evolutionary
theory of morality since, by denying free will, it destroys
all notion of morality. Turning to another theory of
ethics, we come to one known variously as Sentimental-
ism, Moral Sensism, and Intuitionalism. According to this
system, there is in man a special faculty, distinct from
intellect or reason, for the perception of good and evil.
This faculty intuitively distinguishes right from wrong al-
most in the same manner as the ear distinguishes loud
and soft sounds and the taste distinguishes sweet from
sour. Therefore, the morality of an action depends upon
whether it is agreeable to this moral sense.
A criticism to this system resolves itself into the an-
swers to the following questions: Is there such a moral
faculty? Could such a faculty operate as an ultimate
norm of morality? The answer to the first question is that
there is no evidence to show that man is endowed with
any such special faculty. To pretend that we have a sense
that reacts to evils as the ear to cacophonous sounds is
to perpetuate an unfounded fiction. Moreover, (and here
we see the answer to the second question) even if we
had such a faculty, it could not oblige us to follow its
dictates since as only one of my faculties it could be over-
ruled with perfect justice by my other faculties. Free will
might stand up to it and overthrow it. Once again we feel
the fatal lack of obligation in this norm.
One important system of normative ethics remains to
be discussed. This is the system proposed by the jurists
who maintain that morality is based upon a mutual re-
spect among men for each other's rights. Eecognizing our
own rights to such things as self-preservation and self-
realization, we demand that these rights be respected and
thus imnlicitlv bind ourselves to respect these rights in
others. The weakness of this theorv lies in its failure to
prove the rights it mentions. Until those rights have been
proven, no obligation or duty can be admitted.
Having seen the various theories offered as a substi-
tute for Theism as a basis of moral civilization, we turn
now with a certain sense of relief to the original propo-
sition, i.e., Theism is the only sound basis of morality.
By Theism is meant the belief in a Somebody Who is in-
expressibly superior to ourselves, the Author of our exist-
ence, the absolute embodiment of perfection, a Person of
intellect and will. Who has imposed upon us the obliga-
tion of reflecting His righteousness and Who had made it
possible for us to do this by stamping His law of right-
eousness so clearly upon our minds that it has become
imbedded in our very natures. Through a studv of this
nature, we become aware of the specific laws He has im-
posed upon us and we come to realize that He will reward
or punish us insofar as we obey or disobey these obliga-
Theism offers a solid rational basis for morality. It
explains why we should avoid evil and why we should
do good. It tells us that in God alone can we find the prin-
ciple of moral obligation. Through it, our moral actions
gain an absolute and eternal value. Through it, we come
to understand that man is not an independent being but
a being intimately dependent upon God. We understand,
too, that this God has equipped man with an intellect and
a will so wonderfully designed that he may follow the
path to Heaven or to Hell.
Theism provides a sound basis for our moral obligations
toward our neighbors, toward ourselves, and toward God.
In the first place, we must respect the rights of our fel-
low men because in encroaching upon them we encroach
upon the dominion of God. In the second place, we have
a duty to use our faculties in the quest of truth and good-
ness since they were given to us for this purpose. Finally,
we are bound to reverence and obey God because He is
the Author of everything we are or hope to be.
Theism, then, seems to be the only sound basis of
moral civilization. It presents a system which answers all
the facts of consciousness and experience. However, it
would be interesting to glance briefly over the history
of civilization and examine the effects of acceptance or
rejection of this morality. Surely a group of human beings
which believes generally and firmly that good or evil-
doing in this life are followed by corresponding conse-
quences after death, that the individual soul is immortal,
that God is the Father of all. will behave in one way and
a group which rejects such ideas will behave in another.
It is our purpose now to see what effect these ideas have
had upon civilization in ancient and modern times.
A thousand years before the birth of Christ, Greece was
the glory of the ancient world. In art, literature, and phil-
osophy she rivaled the best efforts of the modern mind
and hand. She had everything that was necessary for a
truly great and permanent civilization except one thing.
The Greeks were without a sound basis of morality. They
adored a great variety of gods and goddesses, subject to
human frailities and low passions. Religion had no in-
fluence upon the moral conduct of man. Philosophers
taught a lofty morality, and a few nobler characters prac-
ticed a certain degree of natural virtue. But the bulk of
the people were given to an almost inconceivable immor-
ality. The chief motive for right conduct, as far as it went,
was a certain admiration, based on natural motives, for
moderation and temperance. Here there is a morality,
without a basis in Theism, succumbing to the pride and
passion of man.
Similarly Rome resembles Greece. Having lost faith in
even the pagan deities of earlier times, the Romans sank
to the very depths of iniquity. Brutal gladiatorial games
were the most popular sport of the time. Marriage, being
divorced from religion, became a mere civil contract
which might be dissolved almost at will. Euthanasia,
homosexuality, incest, adultery — such were the common
evils of the day. Slavery in its most cruel and degrading
form was the economic basis of Roman society. Worst of
all, despair was in the hearts of men. A sense of futility,
of the darkness of human life, began to dominate the
thoughts of men. And this despair was not to be banished
until the coming of the supreme Theism of Christianity.
Having seen the dire effects which accompany the
divorcing of civilization from Theism, let us turn now to
an age when morality was rooted in its true base. The
Middle Ages in Europe was a period of grand faith in the
ideas which accompany Theism in its best form. In that
time man came nearer to the rule of justice on earth than
at anytime before or since. In that time all temporal af-
fairs were looked at in the light of eternity.
Individual and social rights were fostered through the
gild system. Conditions which trade unions now strive
desperately to attain were regarded as a matter of couse
by mediaeval workers. Regulated salaries and hours of
work, opportunities for rest and recreation, compensation
for the aged, the sick, and for widows and orphans, op-
portunities for advancement — all these were built upon
the solid foundation of Theism.
The moral tone of life in the Middle Ages was its high-
est glory. Such evils as suicide, birth control, euthanasia,
and divorce were non-existent or so rare that they hardly
affected society in general. The society of the Middle
Ages was not without its defects but with moral univer-
sality it recognized religion as the source of the moral,
social and political order.
Modern times are not without their lesson in regard to
Theism as a basis of moral civilization. Three of the
much discussed "isms" which dominate civilization in Eu-
rope and which threaten to extend their control to the
other continents are all fundamentally a denial of the
true basis of ethics. Communism regards religion as the
"opium of the people. " With such an attitude, openly pro-
fessed and assiduously fostered, it is no wonder that moral
civilization has reached a low ebb in the countries domi-
nated by this philosophy. In the Union of Soviet Socialist
Republics the family has no legal status, divorce is un-
restricted, and sexual relationships are uncontrolled.
Earthly happiness is offered as the ultimate goal of man-
kind. In spite of its cry of human equality, Communism
has no respect for individual rights. In spite of its claim
of offering an earthly paradise to man, Communism can
offer nothing that really satisfies the human heart. Man
has an insatiable thirst for truth and beauty which noth-
ing less than God can satisfy. Cut man off from God and
moral decay is inevitable.
Fascism and Nazism are both cut from the same cloth.
Both have substituted the State for God and both recog-
nize in the State no duties, only rights. The State as con-
ceived by Fascism and Nazism has no duties towards
individuals. It recognizes no laws except those made by
itself. Neither does this State respect the rights of the
family. Since the State is its own end, marriage and the
functions of parents are directed to the uses of the State.
Though religion may receive the reluctant protection of
such a State, it is only as a matter of policy because the
State denies religion any real control over social and indi-
vidual activities. Fascism and Nazism have forgotten the
lesson of history which shows only too plainly that no law
is immutable except the divine law, and that to build on
current sentiment instead of on God and reason is to
build on quicksand.
In this country, though we are relatively free of the
baleful influence of Communism, Fascism and Nazism, we
have seen the results of a weakening of faith in God as
the ultimate Author, Legislator, Rewarder and Punisher
of humanity. Our educational system has completely di-
vorced itself from the idea of God and our obligations to
Him. In our own time we have seen the results of this
divorce. Many of the evils which contributed to the down-
fall of the ancient civilizations are much too common in
American society. Suicide, divorce, crime, insanity and
venereal diseases are so widespread that the cheeriest
optimist will find it difficult to survey current society with-
out some misgivings. Progress in things material has not
been accompanied by a progress in things spiritual. God
will not be mocked — we have seen and we know!
Men of many beliefs have come to recognize the funda-
mental cause of all these evils. The brutal facts have
turned men's minds back to God. There they see a sure
bulwark for the crumbling edifice of moral civilization.
There they behold the surest safeguard of individual
rights. There they observe the strongest inducement to
the fulfillment of man's duties to himself, his neighbors
and to God. Only through Theism will man be restored
to moral soundness, for it is only through Theism that
man is formed to the image of God.
End of Yesterday
• David Loveman
WE had fared much better than most homes in Ten-
nessee during that unusually hot summer of 1864,
for we had managed to retain a small stock of provisions
and even a few luxuries, while the house servants and
several of the field hands had remained with us. And
November found us a contented lot, despite the general
conditions of the country.
With November, the news of the pillaging and burning
of Atlanta took us by surprise. Mother came out on the
upper gallery where I was sitting, watching the leaves
falling from the trees in a golden snowstorm, and told
me about it. When she had finished she was a little quiet-
er than usual and, I thought, a little sad. I took her hand
when she came to wrap the quilt closer around my leg.
She patted my head, just as she did when I was a small
boy and sick.
"Heard from Dad?"
"No, Kayel," she answered, "not lately." In the pause
that followed, I felt the full meaning of her words. Father
had been stationed with Hood in Atlanta.
"You're pretty brave, Mom/' was all I could say. I
knew she understood what I meant.
"Brave!" she repeated, her hand growing heavy upon
my forehead. "Not any more. All my bravery has been
placed in you and your father. You need my strength to
recover from the Yankee bullet in your leg. Your father
needs my courage and determination to come to us again.
I just need patience."
But Mother was wrong. She was not only brave, but
the pillar of strength that kept the house running as near
its regular schedule as possible. We were not bothered
much by the Yankees or by movements of our own gray-
clad soldiers as we were too far off the beaten path be-
tween Murfreesboro and Nashville. Since the battle on
Stone's River in '63, our neighborhood had been compar-
atively quiet. Only a few Confederate stragglers visited
us in search of food or lodging on their way home to heal
their wounds; or occasionally a small band of Yankee
foragers came our way, but after a careful search depart-
ed empty handed.
Mother had taken care of everything. She was constant-
ly on the alert to keep one step ahead. All the valuable
silver and china and laces she stored in the secret cellar
beneath the west wing of the house. This cellar was im-
pregnable even if discovered, which was unlikely. Two
miles from the house, in the woods across the river, she
had the field hands raise a summer garden which supplied
ample fresh vegetables for the summer and yielded pota-
toes and other reliable dishes for winter storage. We had
two cows, several horses and an old sow and her litter in
pens across the river, and so there was little chance of us
November passed monotonously as the previous months.
My leg healed slowly and by the latter part of November
I was able to hobble about painfully with the help of
Joppy, our stable boy, and a cane. Father sent a brief
message telling us of his safety and future plans. Prac-
tically nothing was left of Atlanta. Mother was alarmed,
but I hastened to reassure her that there would be no
fighting near Nashville. The Union forces theie were too
strong for Hood to venture an attack. Left to my own
counsels, I was not so sure.
One cold and grey afternoon as the wind whistled
'round the corners of the house I sat before the sparse fire
that burned half-heartedly in the iron grate of the library,
feeling dully the pain in my leg and brooding just as dul-
ly over the war. In the sewing room above I heard the
faint rustling of Mother's skirts as she passed to and fro.
I was almost asleep.
Suddenly into the stillness there stole the faint and
then louder sounds of an approaching horse and buggy.
I could hear the gravel crunch under the wheels. The doc-
tor? No, his visits were so few nowadays and he never
used a buggy.
Mother had evidently heard too for there came the dim
creaking of the stairs as she descended. Damn, this leg!
It could not possibly be the Yankees, and yet no one else
ever came this way.
The hinges of the front door squeaked as it swung open.
The horse drew to a halt. Voices, laughter echoed back to
me, and then they were beside me, Mother and our cou-
sins from Atlanta. They were almost strangers to me it
had been so long since I had seen them, but soon I was
able to say: "Yes, this is Cousin Nevada and little Philis-
sia." Little Philissia! Yet she was merely a small girl in
lace pantaloons when last I had seen her. She laughed
gaily at the recollection, and I marvelled at the sound of
She was not beautiful, this rather pale, laughing girl
who stood before me, but about her was such a spirit of
youth, of gay abandon, that I was caught in the swirl of
it and looked deep into her eyes to catch the gladness of
her being. She was younger than I, scarcely seventeen;
yet her figure was full and, despite the drabness of her
dress, which had once been fine, she bore a charming
stateliness that I found almost humorous.
Philissia laughed, but Cousin Nevada was a bundle of
nerves and frequently broke into pitiful sobs.
"And our lovely home!" she would say. "Gone. Every-
thing's gone. We are the most unfortunate of people."
"But, Mother," Philissia smiled pathetically, "that's
absurd. Thousands were less fortunate than we. We es-
caped with our lives, and we do have such lovely relatives
in Tennessee, distant cousins at that, who were kind
enough to take us in."
But she was not to be consoled.
So perfectly did they fit into our way of living that it
seemed almost impossible they had not always been there.
Now there was company for Mother as she went about the
household tasks, and best of all there was laughter in the
cold, drab rooms.
The fighting continued under the light falls of snow
and the grey skies of winter. Occasionally across the still-
ness of late evening, we could hear the roar of distant
guns. But mostly we were uninterested. The war was not
new to us. It had long ago lost the romantic notions it had
at first inspired. It had gone on too long, and taken too
much from us to arouse ever again anything but hatred.
For countless months I had felt its bitter hand as it struck
upon the lines of gray. I knew the despair, the pain, the
hunger, the thirst of battle. Out on a gory field I had
vomited the first time I slew a man. Thank God, that
Yankee bullet had wormed its way into my leg! Even
though I never walk again, it would be better than walk-
ing across a field of corpses, each one cold and white in
the moonlight. Thank God, for that bullet ! Thank God !
Wherever I was, Philissia was there. She would bring
me my breakfast in the morning, urging me to eat that
my strength would return. She would place an extra pil-
low under my leg or behind my back. When I wanted a
drink, she was there, smiling when I looked surprised.
She was present when there was death in the slave quar-
ters, she saw that the cattle were properly fed, and often
visited the storeroom to see that all was aright. She gave
Mother a chance to rest.
"You've done so much for us, Philissia," I said to her
one day as we sat together on the back terrace. "It's real-
ly been our good fortune that you came."
She only smiled, just as she always did when we men-
tioned her work. Setting there on the stone step in the
sun, she seemed almost golden. Her head was bare, and
her light curls, touched with the faintest tinge of brown,
radiated the sunlight. Marigold must have looked just
as she, when her father transformed her into a golden
"Warm enough?" she asked. She had insisted that I
be placed in the sun, so that I could get a little fresh air.
"You'll never get well if you spend the rest of your life
indoors. 'Nother pillow?"
"No, thanks, I'm fine."
She was silent for a moment, while the sun whisked
behind a cloud, and the shadows of the barren trees faded
away into the frozen ground. A stiff wind bent the lighter
trees in the garden almost double. The heavy wool of her
skirt whipped against her ankles. The sun reappeared
and the wind became quiet,
"I've been thinking, Kayel," she finally said.
"It will soon be Christmas and a New Year. What's to
become of us? Once we were a happy people, secure in
our homes, and slaves, our cotton or tobacco fields, our
balls and our barbecues, our oak trees and our flower
gardens. Life was full and pleasant. Where is it now?
"Our boys marched away as we laughed and cried and
waved flags. Each one was so proud of his new gray uni-
form. Those who have returned were ragged and dirty.
They smelled of sweat and blood and their bodies were
caked with filth. These men aren't the strong, handsome
boys we sent away. Where are they?
"We sent a soldier away too, Mother and I. He kissed
us goodbye, and when the war was over he would return.
We were to wait for him. But we've waited so long, and
he hasn't returned. Where is our soldier?"
Philissia never spoke of the war again nor of the father
she had lost, but often I could detect traces of tears on
her cheeks, and knew she was thinking of him.
The days grew colder and the food scarcer. Mother
kept saying that we must be more careful if we did not
wish to starve before the winter ended. Several of the
field hands died and a few left, but Joppy, his wife Louise,
Tellie, one of the maids, the cook and a few enfeebled old
Negroes who were to weak to move, remained. Although
we carefully meted out our supply of coffee, it was ex-
hausted before Christmas so that we were forced to pre-
pare a brew of okra seed, wheat or barley, which served
as a tolerable substitute. At least it could be heated and
was useful as a stimulant on cold December mornings.
Then, too, the salt gave out, and so the walls, barrels, and
even the dirt of the ^smokehouse were carefully scraped
for the few grains that had fallen from the salted meat
that had been hung there to dry in days gone by.
Mother, Cousin Nevada and Philissia, with the assist-
ance of Tellie and Cook, were kept busy giving the old
clothes we wore at least a hint of decency. Yet for some
reason the hardest pang of all came when I saw Mother
take out her carefully wrapped ball dress, and strip the
dainty ruffles from it, so that the lovely satin of the vo-
luminous skirt could be used as a petticoat to ward off the
cold. I could not keep back the tears.
And once Mother had worn that very dress at a ball in
this house. How lovely she had been as she greeted each
guest at the foot of the winding staircase. Father was
there beside her, so straight and tall in his new uniform
with each glittering button gleaming in the candlelight.
Had there actually been a ball in this still, old house?
Did these walls, now grim and silent, once look down
upon a body of dancers? That had been before the out-
break of the war. Almost four years ago ! My God, how
long since then!
I was just fifteen and it was my first real, grown-up
ball. How I enjoyed watching the fun! All night long
they danced ; all night long the ruffles of new ball dresses
heaved and swayed in perfect rhythm with the music.
The flexible hoops that made each dress a perfect circle
of lace and ribbons, bent and swirled a thousand times,
fitting themselves close to each slender body when a uni-
formed partner took one in his arms; bobbing gaily up
a*nd down as they turned and skipped in the breathtaking
steps of the polka; waving in the graceful turns of the
waltz. It was a happy, colorful sight; one I shall always
Several times during the month important officers of
the Confederate army always were near our home as a
halt was called, and the sight of gray soldier boys camp-
ing in our tobacco fields became customary. Mother pre-
tended to be delighted that they honored us with their
company, but secretly I knew she was wondering whether
to bring forth the last of the fresh meat, or to set out one
of the few remaining bottles of wine. Once at dinner, one
of the servants mentioned the pens in the woods, and
upon careful inspection the next day the Captain, after
thanking us profusely for our hospitality, announced po-
litely that our horses would be conscripted for use in the
army. Our own soldiers became more a nuisance than the
Suddenly one day, as she stood with us in the drawing
room, Cousin Nevada became desparately ill. She grew
worse and we were powerless to help her. We sent Joppy
into Nashville with a pearl necklace in lieu of money to
get a doctor or at least some medicine, but it was useless.
He returned empty handed. Yankee soldiers had taken
the necklace for his safe passage through the city.
For several weeks, as my leg had become worse and
gave me increasing pain, I had been sleeping on the sofa
in the drawing room. Once near midnight I was awaken-
ed by the sound of movement in the yard and a sharp
knock on the door.
" Who's there?" I called.
A voice came in out of the night. "You'll hafta leave ;
there's gonna be a battle here." Retreating footsteps, the
sound of hooves flying, and silence !
As simple as that. " — there's gonna be a battle !" There
would be guns and soldiers and fighting. Shells would fly
through the night. Perhaps our home would escape, per-
But what could we do? Upstairs lay three sleeping
women. One was sick, maybe dying. Here alone in the
room was I, my leg wounded and throbbing with pain.
A few feet away in the dining room, asleep on a pallet,
lay Joppy. That was all and the house was dark and still.
But outside, there was movement and excitement. Voices
echoed through the night and the rumble of artillery
swept across the lawn, louder and louder, until the air was
fit to burst with the chaos.
With my cane, I knocked upon the floor for Joppy, and
when he finally stood beside me, spoke softly, my brain
resounding without. But it was loud only to me, for Joppy
knew nothing of the preparations. He stood and blinke/d
stupidly, his eyes dull with sleep.
My hand clutched his arm in the darkness, and I said :
"Go quietly up to Miss Philissia's room. Tell her to come
at once. Make no noise and above all say nothing to
Mother. Do you understand?"
I heard his bare feet shuffling across the floor and the
stairs creaked softly beneath his weight. It would not do
to show any light, but I lighted a candle and placed it on
the floor beside the sofa. The glow was dim and feeble
and the blinds were drawn.
It seemed as if scarcely a moment passed before Philis-
sia stood within the circle of candlelight. For a moment
I was startled. Her approach had been noiseless and as
I glanced up she stood there, her hair as soft and radiant
about her face as a halo. Her gown, a film of whiteness,
hung loose and full about her body. I thought she was an
angel. I almost screamed with the pain in my leg.
"Kneel down beside me," I said, and as she did, I blew
out the candle. I felt the pressure of her breasts on my
arm. Her breath came slowly. She trembled and I threw
a blanket about her shoulders. The fire had burned into
embers in the grate and the room was cold.
I told her of the coming battle and heard her catch her
breath. Her fingers clutched my arm. I waited for her to
speak, and in the interval of silence, the sound of running
feet crept into the room.
"But," she whispered, "Mother is too ill to be moved.
And your leg! It would be madness to leave." She arose
and crossed to the window but in an instant was back
again. "There are men camped in the bottom pasture. And
there are signal lights flashing back and forth across the
meadows. That's all I could see. They'll begin any mo-
ment." Suddenly her head was on my chest, her hair soft
and sweet in my face. "Oh, God!" she sobbed. "What's
to become of us?"
The silence was maddening. The quiet before the
storm. I patted her head.
"We must wait and see," I said. "Just wait and see."
Yet it was not as bad as we feared. The skirmish was
light and most of the shots passed harmlessly to the right.
We felt the shock of the battle in little ways: the noise
of the guns, the rattling of windows, or the quivering of
the earth as a cannon fired and bit the ground. By morn-
ing it was over. Only a few dead marked the slaughter of
Soon Phillissia smiled again and we were contented.
Several times Father secured a pass and spent a few hours
with us. His visits were replete with stirring tales of the
siege. For nearly two weeks they had been laying siege
to Nashville, but Thomas, secure within the city, did not
answer their challenge. There were reports that Grant
himself was on his way to Tennessee. Mother was always
loath to let him return but he smiled away her fears —
"... and when we retake Nashville, I'll return for good."
He was so confident that Mother and I believed him. But
Nashville was never retaken; for on the fifteenth of De-
cember, 1864, Thomas appeared from behind his en-
trenchments. For two days we could hear the roar of the
battle, like the beating of a thousand drums in the dis-
Through the long night of the fifteenth and sixteenth
Mother prayed. She prayed for the safety of her husband,
caring little whether the Confederacy was victorious. I
watched her kneeling in the candlelight with her little
golden crucifix clasped against her breast. Her lips moved
unceasingly during the long night and at each angry mut-
tering that rolled across the darkness, she trembled and
grew paler. Finally she fell asleep by her chair.
For several days we knew nothing but the awful fear
in our hearts. But then we learned the truth. The Confed-
erate Army of Tennessee was stationed in defeat at Brent-
wood. Hood had asked to be relieved of his command. But
all that mattered was that Father lived. We scarcely be-
lieved it. All we could do was to thank God. Father was
sent to join Johnston and life at home went on as usual —
patching clothes, eating scraps of food, watching snow
cover the frozen fields and the darkness fall at the end
of each passing day.
Christmas dawned gray and depressing, with a little
flurry of snow towards noon. Philissia with Joppy's as-
sistance had brought in a little cedar tree, and placed it
in the corner of the drawing room ; but it did not blaze
with candles as our trees in other years and the little at-
tempt made to give it color were almost pitiful. Scraps of
gay cloth, red and green, were scattered over the bristly
limbs and here and there a string of glass beads sparkled
in the firelight. Beneath the branches Fhilissia had placed
her presents for each one. Mother cried over the shawl
that she received, and I felt a lump in my throat as I
recognized in the socks she gave me tne blue yarn she had
unraveled from a sweater 1 had often seen her wearing.
Dinner was cheerless and unpleasant. The long dining
room, with the crystal chandelier that had looked down
on so many scenes of festivity before the war, was chill
and dark and unusually empty. The damask draperies,
once so rich and fine, hung faded and limp against the
cracking walls. Tiny flakes of snow spattered dully upon
the window panes. Even the age-old bottle of wine long
imprisoned in the cellar, failed to restore us to our usual
Yet that Christmas Day shall never pass from my mem-
ory, for it was then, in the dusk of early evening, that I
met Maleen. Mother had known her father; she had prom-
ised to care for his daughter when he died — he had been
buried the day before Christmas Eve.
Maleen stepped from the old buggy she must have
hired to bring her from Nashville, and I saw only a bun-
dle of furs, not worn and patched as those I had lately
seen, but soft and velvety.
Mother greeted her warmly at the door, yet her eyes
were troubled as she brought her in to see me. "And this
is my son, Kayel," she said. "Kayel, this is Maleen."
"Maleen," I repeated and looked up at the tall and
commanding figure beside my chair. Her wrap had fallen
from her shoulders and I saw her dress of soft green cash-
mere. Her hair, parted in the middle with a cascade of
curls that fell upon her neck, was extremely dark, and
her skin was as pale and beautiful as the magnolia blos-
soms that smile from the trees in the garden. I gazed into
eyes still and dark and deep, and for a moment I was
frightened, yet fascinated, just as I had when, as a child,
I looked down into the bottomless depths of our well.
Her voice flowed as smooth as honey pouring from the
pitcher onto my hot cakes. "I do hope we shall be friends."
She said no more, but I felt strangely elated and comfort-
ed, as though a cooling cloth had been placed on my
fevered cheek. I could only smile in reply.
As the days sped by and the first of the new year had
come and gone, I began to feel as if I really knew and
understood Maleen. Somehow the rest of the family did
not seem so favorably impressed with this quiet, lovely
young woman, who was silent and melancholy whenever
they were present. But with me she was a different per-
son. She would talk for hours of the books and music for
which we had a mutual liking or of the many little things
that interested us. I found her agreeable, well read and
extremely fascinating. Soon I was falling in love with her
and was powerless to do otherwise.
Sometimes I fancied that Mother and even Philissia re-
sented her presence. Once I found them watching her with
displeasure as she chatted and laughed with a Confeder-
ate officer who dropped in for dinner. So deeply had I
fallen beneath her charms that l found myself taking her
part against the rest. Often she would be gone for hours
at a time and, upon her return, would offer no explana-
tion for her absence.
"You must remember," I told Mother, "that she is a
stranger here. She does not know us well enough to feel
at home. It is only natural for her to want to be alone and
away from us for awhile, and we must not force ourselves
into her privacy unless she wishes it." Secretly I was wor-
ried, not only because she left us for such long intervals,
but for her health. As the days passed she grew pale and
would tremble at the slightest noise. Stark terror entered
her eyes when she heard the sound of approaching hooves
or the distant rumble of the guns that echoed only faintly.
One evening we were seated in the upstairs sitting
room. A fire burned weakly on the hearth and the and-
irons glowed from the flame. It was early, but Mother,
complaining of a headache, had gone to her room ; Philis-
sia was with her mother. Maleen and I were alone in the
room. She was facing the fire and the light of the blaze
caught and glimmered in the folds of her dress. The faint
sound of the fire and the rustle of the leaves of my book
alone disturbed the silence. Suddenly she rose and, stand-
ing at the window, gazen intently out into the night. A
shutter flapped against the house. "I'm frightened," she
I looked up as she turned slowly to face me. I held out
my hands and she took them, desperately as a drowning
man would clutch at a rope. I pulled her gently to the
sofa beside me. "Frightened?" I repeated. "There's noth-
ing to fear."
"Oh, but there is; and it's grabbing at me. Sometimes
I wake at night and can't breathe. I can feel it all around
me wherever I turn. It's out there in the dark. It's in this
"Poor little one ! But you are safe. You are among those
who love you."
"Those who love me?" Her tone was incredulous.
How I longed to take her in my arms and kiss away
her fears! It was anguish to see her suffering. Could I
offer her anything? Could I lessen that awful terror in
"Oh, Kayel," she cried, "say it again, and again; say
"I love you. Could you not tell it? It has been in my
face, in my voice. Oh, my darling, I love you so much that
no matter what happens — "
She leaned down slowly and touched the edge of my
hair with the tips of her fingers. Her hand was cool and
tender and her lips as they met mine were beyond des-
cription. I saw her eyelids flutter and close, shutting out
everything but our love for each other.
"And I love you," she muttered, "forever and ever and
"We'll be married right away, and when the war is
over — "
"No." She rose and stood facing the fire. I could see the
orange and 1 crimson shadows play over her face. My
breath came slowly. Was this the blank wall — this one
word — towards which all my dreams had led? Was I to
hold her in my arms and then watch helplessly as she
"You mean — ? But you said — "
"I know. I said I love you." Her voice was cool and low
and yet it filled the room. "But I can never marry you."
"I don't understand."
"Some day you will. You'll thank me then, when the
war is over."
"I can't live without you." There was something press-
ing within my heart. The fire was almost gone and the
deepening shadows fell heavily on my soul. "And the war
will soon be over. Our lives will go on then, just as they
did before. The guns and battles won't touch us then.
We'll rest secure and happy together."
"No," and she was sobbing pitifully now. "No, Kayel.
I'm sorry." She drew away and focused her eyes on the
last of the dying embers. "Forgive me."
And she was gone. The door closed softly behind her
and the rustle of her dress sounded dimly in the hall and
was gone. I was alone in the darkness.
The days now dragged slowly. Maleen avoided me and
we spoke no more of our love. She was gone more often
and stayed away longer than before. I could not bear to
think of her exposed in enemy infested territory. Yet she
One day, when Maleen was gone, Philissia came into
my room. "I don't like her, Kayel," she said. "She doesn't
seem to fit into our world ; our bitter, mean world of pov-
erty and heartbreak. Perhaps I'm wrong; if so, I'm sorry.
I would like to like her." She looked steadily at me. "She
is very beautiful."
I returned her gaze a little uneasily. I wondered if she
knew my secret. Her eyes wandered from my face.
"You love her."
My wall of secrecy was broken. I could only nod. She
was on her knees beside me as she had been that night
so long ago when we listened to the guns in the darkness.
"And she loves you?" The countless yards of her dress
swirled about her like a turbulent sea of green.
"I don't know," I replied.
Her voice was a monotone. The collar heaved on her
bosom. "She does. I know she does. It's funny you love
her so much and can't see she loves you. It's funny the
way things turn out, isn't it, Kayel. But she can't, Kayel,
she can't love you as much as I — "
She was frightened now of what she had said. Her hand
was at her mouth to recapture the works that had al-
ready stolen from her. She rose and walked across the
room, a blur of green before my eyes, and I was power-
less to call her back. At the door she turned, her head
resting against the panel, her hand clutching the knob.
"I'm sorry, Kayel. Forgive me." She did not look back
as she closed the door.
Somehow we went on, living there together — Philissia,
Maleen and I. We saw each other every day and each day
was heavy with unspoken words.
Joppy, returning from Nashville, brought us the news
that the Union forces were battering at the gates of Rich-
mond. Thousands upon thousands lay on the fields as our
armies retreated. How long would it last? How long
could it last?
We woke one morning to find ourselves practically hem-
med in by snow. The fields were covered with a white
blanket, though here and there a straggly tree loomed
above the white drifts. Winter seldom brought such a
snowfall to the South and were it not for the added misery
it brought, we would have enjoyed the beauty of white
fields and the low sculptured hills fading into a sky of
Maleen made countless trips to the windows, peering
out into the wintry day as if to melt the snow by her gaze.
It was plain she was annoyed. Seated at table her fingers
drummed a nervous tattoo on its edge. She spoke sparsely
and ate almost nothing. I was decidedly puzzled.
Towards evening as she stood by the window, I saw her
stiffen suddenly, though I gave her no inkling I had no-
ticed as she turned towards me. Her face was pasty white
and her hands gripped the curtains as if to steady her-
self. After a moment, she left the window and, taking the
chair nearest me, picked up her book.
For a brief moment no one spoke, and in the silence of
the room the sound of a fist hammering on the door spread
brazenly through the house. Mother rose to her feet. Ma-
leen was breathing fast. Her lower lip bled from the pres-
sure of her teeth.
"Who on earth could that b§? Soldiers I suppose, "
Mother's voice was faintly excited. I knew she was think-
ing of Dad.
From the hall the cadence of low pitched voices echoed
vaguely through the closed door.
"Howdy do, Ma-am. I hate to bother you-all, but I'm
afraid I shall have to ask you to let us stay here for
"It will be no trouble at all, Captain Summers," Mother
answered. "We haven't so much to offer, but it's all
"Thank you, Ma'am. There's only two of us, Sergeant
Woodlawn and I. We'll try to make our stay as brief as
possible. We're on a secret mission from General Lee.
Your husband told us we could make our headquarters
here. We'll be needing a private room, if you please."
"Of course. How is my husband? You've seen him re-
cently? Now, if you'll just come this way, Captain, I'll
show you to your room — " Her voice trailed off as she
mounted the stairs. The sharp click of spurs and the rat-
tle of a sword followed.
The faint glimmer of the firelight revealed the relief
on Maleen's face. Her eyes met mine, and she smiled al-
most joyfully. How beautiful she was!
It did not take long for Mother to return. She was wor-
ried. "What shall we feed them, Kayel? There's very
little left in the storeroom."
"Would it be possible for me to go into Nashville?"
Maleen volunteered. "Perhaps — "
"No!" Mother's voice was almost cutting in its sharp-
ness. "Captain Summers made it plain that we could not
leave the house. Their business is so important that they
cannot risk any chance of the Federals learning of it."
I learned later from Captain Summers that we would
all have to remain within the house and garden until their
work was done and they had returned to the army. He
explained they could take no chances as the fate of the
Confederacy might hang in the balance of their success
He could do nothing but comply with his orders. The
days were long and dreary, the nights cold and bitter. We
were caught in the ebb tide of the war; caught and forced
to drift more and more away from the anchorage of peace
and joyful living we once knew. Resistance was useless.
We could do nothing but keep our heads barely above the
muddy swirl and watch helplessly the shattered remnants
of a fear-swept land float by in ruins.
Towards evening of one of those rain-soaked days, Jop-
py burst into the library where I was sitting. He was un-
usually excited. The sweat glistened on his face in spite
of the cold.
"Oh, Lawd, Mist' Kayel, Ah done seed him, de Massa!"
Joppy nodded vigorously and his eyes were wide and
unbelieving. My heart pounded within me. Father in
Nashville! I could see him wounded, perhaps dying in
some prison camp.
"He is mighty sick, he is. Dey tooken him to de Cap'tol."
The door swung open, and as I turned Mother stood
there. Her hand clutched the knob and her face was paler
than the white trimmings on her faded lavender dress.
She had come down suddenly from Cousin Nevada's sick
room and had heard the news that Joppy had intended
only for me. As she turned to me I could see the same
look in her eyes as a wounded animal at bay, pain and
sorrow and bewilderment.
"Joppy," she said, and her voice rustled as faintly as
the evening breeze in the maple leaves, "go upstairs and
get my bonnet and cloak. Then bring the carriage around
to the front. We are going to Nashville."
"Lawdy, Ma'am, dat howse am' able to make no trip
to de city. She plum wore out and am' had nothin' to eat
fo' a long time."
"Do as I tell you," she cried, and as he retreated to car-
ry out her orders, she crossed to me.
"What must I do, Kayel? The capitol is so horrible
since the Yankees made it into a prison. It's dirty and
smellv and the walls are covered with lice, Joppy savs.
And he's sick and weak and will be so uncomfortable
there. Do vou think they will allow me to bring his home?
Thev could watch him just as well here and he would be
so much better off."
"Mother," I answered, "have you forerotten Captain
Summers? We're not supposed to leave the house, and
even if you are allowed to see Father, it would be im-
possible for him to stav here with Yankee soldiers hang-
ing around to watch him. And Lincoln has ordered no
exchange of prisoners. I'm afraid it would not do any
good for you to go. They would hardlv let you see him
and, too, Captain Summers has so definitely ordered that
She turned away quickly. Joppy stood beside her and
she snatched the bonnet and wrap from him.
"Captain Summers!" she cried. "What do I care for
Captain Summers and his orders? What do I care for
the Confederacy? That's all I've heard. What do I care
if it falls to pieces, when your father is lying sick in some
Yankee prison! Let them try to stop me. Joppy and I are
going to Nashville."
I could scarcely picture the Nashville Mother must have
found. How different from the busy little pre-war city,
bustling with pride and steaming with activity! Now, as
Mother hastened through the rain swept streets, the
houses and offices, the residential and business blocks
would be empty or partially filled with blue-coated Yan-
kees. Blank windows would stare insolently out at the
passing carriage as if resenting its presence in a city of
phantom memories. The Maxwell House, that was to have
been the pride of the South, would now only echo the
laughter that drunken soldiers tossed out from its half
completed walls. All that the city had once stood for was
gone. Only empty shells remained to testify that here
once basked, in the sunshine of the South, a landmark
of the Confederacy.
From the time Mother left the hours dragged heavily.
Captain Summers accepted Mother's absence as unavoid-
able, though it caused him great alarm. After a few re-
marks about the importance of his work to the success of
the Confederate Army, he retired once more to his room,
relying on the Negroes posted as sentries to warn him of
the approach of Union troops, whereupon he and his com-
panion were to retire to the secret chamber in the cellar.
Later, lying on the sofa, with the house silent except
for the rain beating on the window panes, I tried to sleep.
But the burden on my mind and the intense pain in my
leg gave me no respite, and I could onlv lie still and peer
into the darkness. I tried to pray as Mother had taught me
long ago, but the words of each prayer became blurred
within me and I could remember no particular prayer. I
thought of Maleen and my love for her. I thought of
Philissia and her kindness to us. I thought of Cousin Ne-
vada lying ill upstairs, and of Mother driving through the
rain to Dad. Yet I could think of no escape from the rush-
ing whirlpool towards which we were being dragged,
against which resistance was futile.
It was well past midnight when I was startled by a
slight noise that seemed to come from the upper hall at
the head of the stairs. I listened closely and soon distin-
guished the faint swish of skirts and tiny footfalls. I knew
at once it was Maleen. Had I not heard the dainty sound
of her step countless times? Had I not memorized each
rustle of her skirts as she passed? But why was she stir-
ring at this time of night? The fall of each step came dim-
ly to me as she descended the stairs. Possibly she was lift-
ing her dress so that she might slip down unnoticed.
Soon, outlined against the far window of the room,
her silhouette passed me. Even in the dark I could tell she
wore her bonnet and furs. She was dressed to go out into
the night. As she turned her head I knew she was looking
at me, thinking, I supposed, that I was asleep.
"Maleen," I called softly.
She was startled. With her skirts lifted in one hand, she
stopped near the door. I fumbled about and lighted the
little stump of a candle that stood near. In its feeble glow
she seemed distant and almost a stranger. But her voice
was as soothing and beautiful as ever.
"What is it, Kayel?"
"Are you leaving?"
"Please, Kayel, I — " She faltered and lowered her
eyes. Her dark curls trembled as she stepped backwards.
"But it is raining and cold outside. You'll catch your
death of cold. And Captain Summers will be displeased/'
In an instant she was beside me, her eyes eager and her
lips quivering as she said : "I shall be back before morn-
ing. He need never know that I am gone unless — "
"But," I cried, "suppose he sees you. And you can't get
by the Yankees this time of night. You know that."
"I must go."
"No ! I won't let you. It's too dangerous — the night and
"Nothing will happen. I shall be safe." Tears glistened
in her eyes. "Oh, Kayel, why must you try to stop me?"
"Because I love you."
"If you loved me you would let me go."
"Please! You don't know what you are doing to me.
Do you think I want to go out into that black rain? It is
only because I must. I must. Once I asked you to believe
in me ; said that the war was keeping me from you. Oh,
Kayel, it still is. Don't make it any harder for me. Let
"What are you hiding from me, Maleen? Let me help
you. Tell me. It will make no difference. Oh, my darl-
ing — "
"I must go now, Kayel."
"I won't let you go," I said as I grasped her wrists
and pulled her down beside me. "I can't let you go."
She stared down at me for a moment and twisted her
arms to free herself but I only held her the tighter. There
was fear in her eyes as I took her in my arms. She seemed
afraid and her lips were cool and unresponsive. My heart
ached dully as she drew away from me and tried with the
fingers of one hand to loosen the grip upon the other.
"You're hurting me."
I looked into her eyes again and as I did I almost caught
my breath I was so startled ; for the fear I had seen was
gone and in its stead I beheld a smouldering fire of bit-
terness. Her gaze went through me, searing me as a flame
that sweeps through a field of wheat and leaves nothing
in its wake but charred ashes.
Her eyes dropped to her free hand and as I followed I
caught the gleam of a pistol in the light of the candle. It
pointed at me from a hand that was strong and unwav-
"Turn me loose," she demanded and her voice was as
cold and relentless as the chilling rains that swept the
countryside, "or I shall kill you."
My fingers were powerless to release her arm. For a
brief moment that seemed an indeterminate lifetime, I
was stupified. My mind refused to work; my strength was
gone ; I could not grasp the situation.
Then suddenly I awakened; awakened to the realiza-
tion that I had lain sleeping too long. The gleaming muz-
zle of the pistol wavered before my eyes and as I watched
the vivid flashes I leaped to the full meaning of what had
In profusion, there arose before me a panorama of lit-
tle things that pricked my memory — those furs — her
aloofness and mystery — Mother's bewilderment as she
gazed on this stranger in our home — Joppy's words. "Ah
seen Miss Maleen in de garden speakin' to sum men an*
when Ah come up dey sees me and run off in de dark, an'
Miss Maleen, she 'tends she was out walkin' but Ah knows
diffunt"— a room in the dim light of a dying: fire and
other words : "I'm frightened . . . the war . . . it's holding
me ... I can never marry you" — long periods of absence
— her distress at being snowbound — and always that aw-
ful fear in her lovely eyes. Now there were other things —
Maleen stealing down the stairs — "I must go" — "I can't
tell you" — and a gleaming pistol behind which were eyes,
fierce with determination and bitterness.
Now at last there was the truth — the plain, naked
truth. Maleen was a Federal spy! How could I have been
blind for so long? It was so evident. This girl accepted
the hospitality of our home and rewarded us by betray-
ing the very cause for which my father had been fighting,
perhaps dying — betraying from his house the ideal for
which we stood. And yet — and yet — she was the girl I
"Do you hear me, Kayel? I shall kill you if you do no,t
turn me loose."
"Maleen, I love you."
"I shall kill you."
"And I know you love me. I have seen it in your eyes.
You've told me so. Remember?"
The rage had gone from her eyes. Her hand trembled
as she held the gun. Her voice no more was bitter but
pleading. "Turn me loose, Kayel. Turn me loose."
"I shall never turn you loose. You're mine forever."
The pistol clattered to the floor. She leaned over me and
touched my lips with the tips of her fingers. In the soft
yellow radiance of the candle she was more lovely than
I had ever seen her. Her touch erased from me every hurt
that I had ever suffered, even her position in my home,
the detestable things for which she stood, the harm she
had done my country, all vanished beneath the magic of
her finger tips.
"But," I cried, "we can forget the past. We can build
our love on these very ruins."
She shook her head slowly. A tear rolled down her
cheek and splashed onto my hand. She looked into my
eyes, read there the unspoken hopes, and smiled. It was
a pathetic little smile, touching and piercing my heart. As
her eyes left mine and saw beyond me, there remained
for us but a trace of that smile, and it too slowly died on
her lips. Her hand tightened in mine.
"I give you my word, Kayel, I shan't leave this house
Her hand slipped away and she backed slowly from
me. At the door she turned and whispered, "Good night,
I could say nothing for the awful, burning pain in my
throat. She was right. Our love could never be. We could
never start life in a broken land — I, who was breaking
with it, and she, who was breaking it.
Shortly afterwards, I fell asleep.
The succeeding days were like a hideous nightmare or
a grotesque tale from the "Arabian Nights." They were
days that stretched nerves already taut to the breaking
point. Mother returned with word that Dad was dying,
and left almost immediately for Nashville. Cousin Neva-
da, without doctors or nurses, required Philissia's constant
nursing. Maleen remained in her room, and although no
more than a closed door separated us, it might have been
a range of impenetrable mountains or the depths of the
sea. A pall of silence and depression, of bitterness and
heartache, of sickness and death, settled over the house-
hold. Only Captain Summers, working frantically over
dispatches in the far bedroom, possessed any semblance
of normality. It was a house that was still and despairing
in the bitter March winds.
But one bleak afternoon the last attachment to the
olden days was severed and the once fine house could no
longer offer hospitality to its guests. That day Captain
Summers and his companion departed in defeat, yet so
high were their heads and so proud their carriage that I
thought as I watched them ride away between rows of
Federal troops, that with such men as these serving her,
the Confederacy could never die, for such memories of
courage and heroism would perpetuate her name and
vaunt her glory forever.
It had happened so quickly, so unexpectedly that it
was over and done before we realized what was happen-
ing. A few minutes earlier, Joppy had scurried into the
house from the fields, screaming the one word that
wrought terror in so many hearts, "Yankees !"
Even before the alert Captain could gather his papers,
a Union officer boldly flung open the front door. Behind
him countless troops, who quickly and noisily filled the
lower floor. Heedless of our useless lies, they mounted the
stairs. A sharp exchange of shots echoed through the still
house and silence settled down once more. Soon Captain
Summers descended with his captors, his bleeding hand
clutched tight against his breast as fragments of charred
paper that would never reveal their secrets fluttered down
beside him. As the line of mounted men disappeared be-
yond the orchard, the rain set in again in a blinding fury
that blotted out the landscape and retreating figures into
I was puzzled and confused. Something was wrong.
Something was missing in the turmoil that encircled us.
Suddenly I knew what I should have known from the be-
ginning. Maleen had not rushed down the steps, as had
Philissia, at the first sound of approaching horsemen. She
had not stood beside me as the soldiers swept through the
room. She had not lent her voice to the denials to protect
the men above. Maleen had not stood at the window to
watch the last straggling lines of blue die away in the
rain. She had gone.
Suddenly the house was so completely empty that I
longed to cry out simply for the reassuring sound of my
own voice that would tell me I was not absolutely alone.
The ache in my heart was so dull at first that I could not
realize it was there. Life could not go on without Maleen.
How cold the house would be without the warmth of her
love ! How still without the sound of her voice. How drab
without the brilliance of her smile ! Yes, I thought, with
the muffled sound of the door closing behind her has died
the last semblance of a life for me that will never know
happiness. In the echo of footsteps that passed away
from me, in the swish of hurried skirts had passed away
my love, my youth, my very life.
I sat at the window sill, trying vainly to discern the
outline of the willow through the rain, trying vainly to
find some outlet for my crushed hopes, endeavoring vain-
ly to recall her to me. It was useless. She would never
hear my cries, or, hearing them, would only smile at a
memory that had lasted too long, and would pass on her
Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder, a hand that
was firm and warm and strong, perhaps a hand that could
ease my pain beneath its touch.
"Won't you eat something, Kayel?"
I turned at the sound of her voice. In her faith I read
understanding and sympathy anol love. Philissia, who had
stood by me always !
"Philissia !" I wailed, and her eyes were filled with
My head was on her breast and feeling its comfort and
protection, I sobbed like a child.
"Oh, Kayel," she whispered, "I want to help you."
I raised my eyes to hers. "But," I answered, "there's
nothing left to help. It's gone, everything is gone — Mother
and Dad, the Confederacy and our home, the land and
"No, no. It's not all gone. Your Mother will soon return
and your father will be well. Look out the window. See
the rain? That means it's spring and your land is there-
damaged, but still as good as when it raised cotton and
tobacco. You're young and wise and strong. Oh, can't
you see? Very little is gone — except yesterday. The past
is over. There is only tomorrow for us. You've so much
left. And," her voice was soft and low, "I shall always
be here, waiting for you to need me."
It was spring and in the distance through the last drops
of rain, a rainbow stood across the river. I saw the miles
of rich earth waiting for the plow and the seed that would
make it produce once more. Now I could see the willow
tree plainly and the tiny new leaves. A robin chirped on
its dripping boughs. I saw indeed that there was so much
left for the endless tomorrows.
Slowly I rose, clinging to her arm for support, and to-
gether we crossed to the door. The air was clean and
sweet and good and the moistened earth would yield once
"I need you now, Philissia," I said, wiping away my
tears with her finger tips. "And, oh, my darling, I'll need
William Butler Yeats
9 John Mechem
TO understand poetry, and especially that ultimately
subjective work, romantic poetry, we must probe the
thoughts of the poet, where lies the impetus, the spur-
ring on to lyrical expression. In the answer to "What is
the poet?" lies the answer to "What is the poetry?" In
the case of William Butler Yeats this method seems excep-
tionally fitting. Much criticism has been heaped on the
man for his obscurantism, for over-subtle symbolism, for
theories understandable only to himself. In the study of
Yeats' character and environment, if anywhere, will be
found the solution to these perplexities. "Yeats never
loses his personality in his work," says J. J. Hogan, "and
the reader can never forget the poet and be rapt out of
time and place. W. B. Yeats is always by and in his pose
whether it be or be not a fine and true one." 1 Since it is
Yeats' wont to shift his pose rather often, at times with
an appalling unconcern for intelligence or good sense as
in the case of the Rosicrucians it becomes all the more
necessary that we evaluate the poet's life, his motives,
and thereby form some conclusion on his work, weeding
out and classifying.
Yeats' background was Ireland, and in a lesser way
England and France. Ireland and the Irish cause were his
first love ; England interested him mainly for connections
with writers, mystical and aesthetic, both contemporary
and of former times. France and the continent, for some
peculiar reason, brought out the worst in Yeats. It was
in France that he had the peculiar experience with the
Rosicrucians; it was from the French symbolists that he
learned that floridness and artificial symbolism from
which he later revolted.
It was in County Sligo that Yeats was born and lived
much of the time of his childhood and youth. Here were
formed first the simple mysticism, the interest in the pro-
vincial peasant, and his folk and fairy lore; here too
Yeats was steeped in the tradition, superstition, and con-
iHogan, "W. B. Yeats," Studies, March, 1939, p. 40.
2Krans, William Butler Yeats and the Irish Literary Revival,
quotes an incident from The Celtic Twilight as a typical in-
stance: "By the cross of Jesus! how shall I go? If I pass by the
hill of Dunboy old Captain Burney may look out on me. If I
go round by the water, and up the steps, there is the headless
one, and another on the quays, and a new one under the old
churchyard wall. If I go round the other way, Mrs. Stewart is
appearing at the Hillside Gate, and the devil himself is in the
cern for the visible supernatural. 2 This was the inspiration
for his first two volumes of poems, Crossways and The
Rose. It is in these collections that Yeats expresses a long-
ing to "be gone . . . where daffodil and lily wave," 3 or
again, "to the waters and the wild with a faery, hand in
hand." 4 Here also we find those pictures of simple Irish
life, rustic vignettes ; there is something universally touch-
ing in the sight of the poor old crone, Moll Magee, beg-
ging the heartless children not to stone her, but just to
come and "gather with your shining looks," 5 that she
might have a little sunshine in the darkness of her trag-
edy. These are the two types of Yeats' early work: the
one, mystic and dreamy, through which seeps a sadness
that comes slowly because it is so old. The other, simple
in detail, lowly in theme and a sympathy that proceeds
with natural restraint.
But at the time Yeats was being steeped in Irish lore,
he was also coming in contact with England's tradition.
Early in life he became acquainted with English literature
and eventually absorbed a rather thorough knowledge
of it. He went to school in England and later came in
contact with the Pre-Raphaelites and through them dis-
covered Verlaine and the French symbolists. This con-
fluence of the two streams of customs had three important
effects on Yeats : first, a revolt against materialism, whe-
ther Huxley's practical Puritanical creed, or Zola's loath-
some digging in the human dung pile ; second, a roman-
tic escape into a dream world, where he walked with
creatures of the wood and where he sought eternal beauty
by "many a Danaan shore, where Time would surely for-
get us, and Sorrow come near us no more" ; 6 third, an in-
tense patriotism arising partly from his youthful ties and
partly because Ireland was the jumping-off place and the
sanctuary of his unreality.
This patriotism produced many positive results. The
first among them was Yeats' desire to present to the world
the heritage of legend and customs that was Ireland's.
It led him to form in conjunction with other Irish writers
of note the Irish Literary Theatre Society. This was a
cause for which Yeats crusaded all of his life. At first
there was the battle to eliminate sentimentality and mel-
odrama from the stage, and to make it a place where ideas
were to be brought forth, expounded, and considered.
Yeats' themes were primarily Irish legend, but the pres-
sure of the war years and the revolution grew, and he
brought much to incite the zeal of the Irish for their coun-
try. It was primarily through his leadership in the Irish
3Yeats, Collected Poems, p.
4lbid., p. 21.
5lbid., p. 28.
6lbid., p. 47.
theatre that he had so great an influence on the new
writers, Irish and otherwise, that were coming to maturi-
ty in his day.
Aodh de Blacah claims that Yeats' plays were, no
doubt, his best writings. 7 Personally, I do not agree with
him, for they rely too heavily not on particular circum-
stances but on particular mentalities, minds that are
steeped in the spirit of Irish folklore. One cannot deny
the f orcef ulness of certain passages, as for instance Oisin's
concluding defiance of Patrick:
It were sad to gaze on the blessed and no man I loved of
I throw down the chain of small stones! When life in my
body has ceased,
I will go to Caoilte, and Conan, and Bran, Sceolan, Lomair,
And dwell in the house of the Fenians, be they in flames or
And again no one can overlook the thoroughly Irish
character of many of his lyrics. There is the much dis-
puted passage beginning: "Do you not hear me calling,
white deer with no horns?" 9 The tempest concerning the
meaning of the symbolism has now subsided. Whether or
not the symbolism of this particular poem and others like
it is commendable, two things should be kept in mind:
first, that the lyrics by their very brevity can be much
more easily dealt with than the dramas and dramatic
narratives, and while the lyric must be constricted to one
moment, one word, the drama by dealing with the whole
character, or the complete phase of a certain trend of
thought must necessarily bring in a great deal more. The
second consideration is that Yeats' poems are not by any
means entirely dominated by the Irish fancy. Even among
his early works we find such simple, clear-cut expressions
as this pleasant lullaby:
The angels are stooping
Above your bed;
They weary of trooping
With the whimpering dead.
God's laughing in Heaven
To see you so good;
The Sailing Seven
Are gay in His mood.
I sigh that kiss you,
For I must own
That I shall miss you
When you have grown. 10
The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner. The Host of the
7de Blacam, "Yeats As I Knew Him," The Irish Monthly, March,
SYeats, op cit., p. 363.
9lbid., p. 68.
lOlbid., p. 45.
Air, The Song of the Old Mother beautifully illustrate
this point. The ultimate value of his plays yet remains to
be decided, I believe, but no one can underestimate the
effects that the Irish theatre had on Yeats' character.
For it was through this movement that Yeats was
brought face to face with reality — a reality from which
he could not flee into his introspective Eden. The first dec-
ades of this century found Yeats no longer the happy
dreamy-sad youth. Maturity had brought with it respon-
sibilities. There is a tantalizing proposition in the idea
of the Yeats of the twentieth century being Shelley and
Keats grown old. Both of these died before reaching their
thirtieth year. All three went questing after "the sweet
far thing." But Yeats alone of the three was left to Age,
and he repudiated it. Several things combined to make
this former solace now a source of ennui. Yeats, much like
Shelley, had sought his beauty through love ; not mortal
love alone, but through mortal love, he thought, would be
the key to everlasting love and beauty. Gradually he tired
of youthful passionateness and aging seeks something dif-
Down by the sally gardens my love and I did meet;
She bid me take life easy, as grass grows on the weirs;
But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears. 12
with its pleasant emotion and easy sorrow with the fol-
lowing fatigued and exasperated utterance:
Were you but lying cold and dead
And lights were paling out of the West,
You would come hither and bend your head,
And I would lay my head on your breast;
And you would murmur tender words,
Forgiving me because you were dead:
Nor would you rise and hasten away . . . 13
The outworn joys of youth and the responsibilities of
maturity forced Yeats to come to terms with the world.
He could not, however, be ever pleased with mere ma-
terialism; he sought much more, and the tragic part is
that he found so little. From about 1910 on, when he pub-
lished The Green Helmet and Other Poems, Yeats pro-
gressed from the breezy, aristocratic didacticism and
"outdoorness" of the eighteenth century Tories to the
somewhat cynical courteousness of the man of the world
to a spiteful old age at the end of which he veered back
but never absolutely returned to the Ireland which he
iilbid., p. 43.
i2lbid., pp. 23, 24.
I3|bid., p. 82.
All these changes proceeded successively. The first and
by far the most abrupt was his change of style; hence-
forth, he had cast aside a singing cloak "covered with
embroideries out of old mythologies . . . for there's more
enterprise in walking naked." 14 We can appreciate the
greatness of the difference by comparing the work shown
In the Seven Woods, published in 1904, with his poems
put out six years later in the Green Helmet. What a world
of difference lies between "I cried when the moon was
murmuring to the birds" 15 and
Though leaves are many, the root is one;
Through all the lying days of my youth
I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun;
Now I may wither into truth. 16
Here the whole thought is crushed into four lines ; what-
ever loss may be had in melody and freedom, there arises
an infinite advantage for effect. From now on Yeats is
concerned less and less with folklore, and where he does
employ it, it is more than likely that it is used not for the
sake of itself but the better to illustrate the writer's moods
or feelings. In Responsibilities and The Wild Swans at
Coole Yeats is concerned with a variety of subjects; some-
times they are reflections and memories of love. Here his
position is that of the onlooker, one who could no longer
play at the game of youth. The entire viewpoint is ex-
I bade, because the wick and oil are spent
And frozen are the channels of the blood,
My discontented heart to draw content
From beauty that is cast out of a mould
In bronze . . . O heart, we are old;
The living beauty is for younger men:
We cannot pay its tribute of wild tears.17
At other times they are invectives against the "Philis-
tines," as when he bade the wealthy man who offered to
donate a fund for pictures, if the people wanted them, go
have a look at Duke Ercole and other Renaissance pa-
trons who "sent no runners to and fro" to "learn the shep-
herds' will." 18 A number of his poems are thoughts on the
theater and its playwrights. His most natural work in this
period, however, deals with realistic country scenes or
stirring memorials of his friends, who, as the years go on,
become fewer and fewer. There is a certain refreshment
in the positivism of these that stands out against the back-
ground of a doubting mind which seems to be losing,
I4|bid., p. 145.
I5lbid., p. 89.
I6lbid., p. 107.
i7lbid., p. 158.
isibid., p. 122.
slowly perhaps, but nonetheless assuredly. It is as if Yeats
had suddenly opened his casement, and the wind blew in
and dispersed the choking fog of doubt to let us find our-
selves on the dry land of reality. His memorials are in a
more sober vein, but still seem free from such meaningless
mysticism as the following:
In vain, in vain; the cataract still cries;
The everlasting taper lights the gloom;
All wisdom shut into his onyx eyes,
Our Father Rosicross sleeps in his tomb.
In An Irish Airman Foresees His Death everything that
is best in Yeats came out. Such lines as these need no
Nor law nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drive to this tumult in the clouds . . . 19
In Memory of Major Robert Gregory represents Yeats
emancipated from everything Irish, everything symboli-
cal and without morbidness, yet it loses nothing by this,
and to my mind it is a better showing of the Irish people
than all of Yeats' dramas. It may not, it is true, show any
thing of the Irish feeling, but it does let us know that
after all the Irish are members of the human race. This
elegy is ludicrously brief when compared with the work
of the great Victorian, but how much more thought and
feeling is packed into this one line : "What made us dream
that he could comb grey hair?" 20 than in fifty well-turned
quatrains of In Memorian. To me, if Yeats had never
written another verse this poem would be sufficient to
place him in the category of those to be remembered.
I have already said that Yeat's new style did not alienate
him from the Irish tradition. But what did estrange him
were some ideas that occupied his mind in the last two
decades. These ideas are popularly known as his philoso-
phy of life; the terminology is more than complimentary.
Yeats as he was leaving middle age grew more and more
concerned with his creed, or to put it more accurately,
his lack of it. The seeds were sown in his early years.
Yeats could not stand science or materialism, and yet he
has no notion whatsoever of metaphysics. He made no
attempt to prove his ideas, because he thought the scien-
tific method not only unnecessary but actually loathsome.
Generally speaking, the principal factors were reincar-
nation (how this is to be accomplished is never made
definite) and cyclic phases of human conduct and events
which are mathematically described in terms of the
I9lbid., p. 154.
20|bid., p. 153.
phases of the moon. Gyres and cones, primary and antithe-
tical phases occur frequently in his exposition. At best,
we may say that they are symbolical reflections in Yeats'
mind of his imagination. Yeats made no pretense as to
any objective foundation of his "religion, " rather it is a
sort of last bulwark that he has thrown up against his
critical audiences and his own rationality. Cleanth
Brooks has adequately summed it up:
Yeats as we have seen apparently has no objection himself
to referring to his system as a myth, but we are to remem-
ber that in calling it this, he is not admitting that it is
trivial, or merely fanciful, or "untrue." And this is doubt-
less why Yeats, in answering the question of whether or
not he believes in his system, can only reply with a coun j
ter question as to whether the word "belief," as the
questioner will use it, belongs to our age. For the myth
is not scientifically true, and yet though a fiction, though
a symbolical representation, intermeshes with reality. It
is imaginatively true, and if most people will take this to
mean that it is after all trivial, this merely shows in what
respect our age holds the imagination. 21
One can see that as Yeats evolved this "whirlpool philos-
ophy, he was genuinely fascinated by its terminology. In
this last three books, Michael Robartes and the Dancer,
The Tower, and The Winding Stair and Other Poems, we
often find such phrases as "turning in the widening
gyre," 22 "now gyring and perning there," 23 and "perne
in a gyre." 24 The well-known Sailing to Byzantium, Mi-
chael Robartes and the Dancer, The Second Coming, Two
Songs from a Play, A Dialogue of Self and Soul, and By-
zantium are all poetical utterances of Yeats' theory. In
general, they represent his revolt against the infirmities
of age, pessimistic chagrin at the uselessness of all man's
activities, and futile hope that perhaps he may sometime,
somewhere see the vision of unalloyed beauty. There is
real melody in these lines:
Astraddle on the dolphin's mire and blood,
Spirit after spirit! The smithies break the flood,
The golden smithies of the Emperor!
Marbles of the dancing floor
Break bitter furies of complexity,
Those images that yet
Fresh images beget,
That dolphin-turn, that gong-tormented sea.25
But whether or not they can possibly convey any thread
of meaning to "unenlightened intelligence ,, is much to be
2iBrooks, "The Vision of William Butler Yeats," The Southern Re-
view, Summer, 1938, p. 142.
22Yeats, op. cit., p. 215.
23|fc>id., p. 214.
24|bid., p. 223.
25|bid. p. 286.
disputed. There is certainly no help to be obtained from
Irish myth and Irish fancy, nor can we find any real clue
in the French symbolists; Yeats has gone off the deep end
of his consciousness, and it is impossible to waylay him
at any objective point.
The Tower, to my mind, is among the few better ex-
pressions of his past years. It is a panoramic survey of
Yeats' life in the period of this century — a beautiful sum-
mation of one man's tragedy. From the beginning where
he utters this impassioned despair:
What shall I do with this absurdity —
O heart, O troubled heart — this caricature,
Decrepit age that has been tied to me
As to a dog's tail?26
Yeats goes on to ask first the aristocrats, then the beg-
gars, the misers, and finally all the old Irish heroes, known
or nameless, if they so did, and seems to justify himself
that his misery is accompanied. His mood changes, and
in concluding he remarks, "It is time that I wrote my
mill." 27 First he wills his pride, which is inherited from
the landed gentry who "gave though free to refuse"; 28
it is a quality, we may take it, that distinguished that class
in their actions and in their speech from just people.
Yeats' aloofness was famed ; it arose quite naturally from
his preoccupation with himself and a characteristic sense
of being separated from everyone else by a gulf that
widened as he aged. Then Yeats leaves his faith ; it is his
creed of the beautiful,
. . . learned Italian things
And the proud stones of Greece
And memories of love,
Memories of the words of women ... 29
and his defiance of science and objective truth as naught
but the product of man's own mind, "made lock, stock,
and barrel out of his bitter soul." 30 These two things are
all that Yeats has to offer to those who shall come after ;
in the last analysis, this is all that life has taught Yeats :
live proudly and seek only what is beautiful. But even
these things will be deprived of you by age, as it has him,
and as you wither and decay you will gradually settle
into nothing; so that the end shall be but as "a sleepy
bird's cry among the deepening shades." 31
26|bid., p. 224.
27lbid., p. 228.
28lbid., p. 229.
29|bid., loc. cit.
soibid., loc. cit.
Bilbid., p. 231.
We are as yet too close to make a valid decision on
Yeats' later poetry; however, whatever judgment pos-
terity may place upon it, there is no doubt, as has been
indicated, that the work of his youth and maturity is of
permanent significance. The object of this paper has been
to search out the underlying connection between The Song
of the Happy Shepherd (early period,) Responsibilities
(middle period), and Byzantium (representative of his
latest work) . The answer clearly can only be found in the
delineation and history of his personality. Yeats, the man
is the gradual story of one gone completely astray in a
land of bewildering doubt. It might be said that Yeats
was killed in his youth, when, as he described, he was
deprived of his religion by Huxley and Tyndall. 32 Here,
behind the winsome song and quickened zeal for Ire-
land's cause, lay the seeds that grew as rank weeds first
to check the lightheartedness and bring him to reality —
thus far an improvement — but then to uncertainty and
disbelief: first of Ireland and its people, then of all life,
and finally and most pitifully of himself; driven on, he
clutches at the floating pieces of his frail craft : aesthetics,
or faith in tradition or theosophy; nothing will sate his
morbid appetite for faith, and his bitterness increases as
he drains the cup of distrust. This insight into the man
allows one to perceive the ultimate coherence of his work :
first light, magical, youthfully exuberant; then succinct,
clear, and balanced; finally obscure, bitter, utterly sub-
jective — at times unknowable.
32Brooks, op. cit., p. 117.
• Frank W. Julsen
FOLKLAND AND BOOKLAND
THE question of folkland and bookland, early Anglo-
Saxon systems of land tenure, had long plagued mod-
ern scholars as to the precise meaning of the two. It
remained to the Anglicized Russian scholar Vinogradoff
to formulate definitions that are today generally accepted
by modern authorities.
Private ownership of land as such did not seem to
exist in the beginning. Forests, pasture lands, bogs and
heaths remained the collective property of the members
of the village community, who possessed over these com-
mon lands' equal rights of usage. Annually plots of
ground were distributed among the townsfolk for culti-
vation. Once the crops were harvested, these fields were
used as common pastures for the grazing of cattle owned
by all the families. In time, these divisions became per-
manent, and were designated as units: the Anglo-Saxon
"hide" which corresponded to one hundred and twenty
acres, and the "virgate" which represented thirty acres.
Thus, besides household goods, cattle, and other chattels,
family property came to include land also. This land own-
ership was increased by the reclamation of wastelands
through the labors of pioneers and by the acquisition of
grants of land made by the king.
English lands, prior to the Norman Conquest, were di-
vided into two general groups: Folkland and Bookland.
Folkland (folc, the people; land, land), an earlier form
of land tenure than bookland, has now 1 been generally
accepted as the ownership or holding of land by folkright.
There was no written title to prove formally the right of
ownership, but men relied on the common knowledge of
the village to uphold all claims of possession. Disputes
involving rightful claims of ownership were settled in
the shire or hundred court of the particular section.
Adams, referring to its transfer, says :
Folkland could not be inherited by will, its inheritance
was determined by the custom, and it could not be alienated
without the consent of the folk directly interested, unless it
lVinogradoff advanced this theory in 1893 (cf. English Historical Re-
view, VIII, 1) and most modern authorities accept it.
were land which the individual had acquired during his own
lifetime and not a part of that which he had inherited. 2
Although folkland was not easily alienated, it could
be leased out (as could bookland) for a limited period of
time to free men, ordinarily for the duration of the lives
of three successive holders. After this period of rental,
the land automatically reverted to the donor or leasor.
When leased in this manner, folkland (and bookland)
was termed "loenland," that is, land lent or rented.
Besides the accepted theory of Vinogradoff, there is
the theory set forth by Allen, which was followed by
Stubbs and Kemble. According to this theory, folkland
was the common property of the people as a whole. The
king, however, had the right to give to his followers large
tracts of land, in a manner similar to the continental
"beneficia." Yet these grants remained subject to the
king and to the people, the former having the right to
recall the land. In any event the heir of a donee of folk-
land had to be confirmed in its possession by the king.
That there exists much conjecture regarding the real
meaning of folkland lies in the fact that the term is men-
tioned but three times in the extant documents of the
period, namely, in one law and in two charters.
In the law of Edward the Elder folkland is contrasted
with bookland. It is further indicated that these two kinds
of tenure form the main subdivisions of land ownership.
Maitland observes that "possibly this law tells us that
while a dispute about folkland will, a dispute about book-
land will not, come before the shiremoot. 3
In the first of the two charters, that of Ethelbert of
Kent, 4 dated 858, he exchanged with his thegn Wulflaf
five ploughlands at Washingwell for some land at Mar-
sham, granting the thegn exemption from all fiscal bur-
dens except the trinoda necessitas. Evidently, folkland
was not free from the payment of a land tax, in direct
contrast with bookland.
The second document, the will of Ealderman Alfred,
is thought to have been written late in the ninth century.
The Ealderman bequeathed more than a hundred hides
of land to his wife and the remainder to his daughter,
"our common bairn." In a later clause a son is mentioned,
but it seems as though this offspring were illegitimate, 5
inasmuch as he is referred to as "my son" and as he is
bequeathed only a small fraction of land:
2Adams, G., Constitutional History of England (New York, 1931), p. 40.
3Maitland, F., Doomsday Book and Beyond (Cambridge, 1921), p. 244.
4lbid., p. 245.
5His daughter is mentioned as "our common bairn," which indicates
that she was not merely his offspring, but his wife's also.
I give to my son Aethelwald three hides of bookland: two
hides on Waddon, and one at Gatton, and therewith 100 swine,
and, if the king will grant him the folkland with the bookland,
then let him have and enjoy it; but if this may not be, then
let her grant to him whichever she will, either the land at
Horsley or the land at Lingfield.
This stipulation suggests that perhaps a man's folkland
does not descend to his heir. But again it may mean that
the Ealderman did not feel called upon to do as much
for his son because of his illegitimacy, although Alfred
expressed the hope that the king as supreme judge would
rule the son legitimate, thus enabling him to inherit the
This scanty evidence accounts for the vagueness sur-
rounding the meaning of folkland.
Bookland (boc, charter or book; land, land), the other
Anglo-Saxon system of land tenure, was the land held
by a written title, 6 either a landbook or a charter, created
by a royal grant with the consent of the witan. These
grants were usually made to churches, monasteries, and
noblemen. Frequently, land held under such royal char-
ter was free from fiscal burdens, except the trinoda neces-
sitas, and occasionally the donee was accorded rights
of local lordship and jurisdiction. There is evidence that
the land reverted to the owner after the extinction of the
Maitland summarizes the origin, or source, of book-
The holder of folkland is a free landowner, though at an
early date the king discovers that over him and his land there
exists an alienable superiority. Partly by alienations of this
superiority, partly perhaps by gifts of land which the king
himself is the owner, bookland is created.
In other words, land separated from folkland was
THE MARK SYSTEM
In mediaeval Germany there was a system of land ten-
ure known as the "mark," under which all property was
collective. It consisted not only of meadows and arable
lands, but also wastes, marshes, pasture lands and for-
ests. The land belonged to the community of free men,
who possessed equal rights of usage and temporary occu-
pation of it, as well as exercising collective rights of ad-
ministration and jurisdiction over it. The arable lands
6"Its management and qualities are derived from the charter creating
it. Thus, every bookland tenure might differ from others in respect
to heritability and alienability." — Encyclopedia Americana.
were divided into long strips, "gewanne," used for winter
seed, spring seed and fallow, and were distributed peri-
odically among the families. After the hay had been har-
vested, the cattle of the members of the mark were turned
into the meadows to graze. 7
Between "village communities" and "mark commun-
ities" there was a distinction. In the opinion of scholars,
a village community comprised the group living in a vil-
lage near or in the middle of the holdings, whereas a
mark community was made up of a group spread over
several miles of land, each family living apart.
Not sufficient evidence supports the theory that the
mark system existed in England. In Domesday Book 8
there is recorded a tract of land in Suffolk which was "the
common pasture for all men of the hundred of Coleness." 9
This and similar examples are advanced to show that
there may have been a mark system. But it is obvious
that land of this nature was vulnerable to the assertion
of royal ownership, thereby making it dubious whether
the mark system ever secured a foothold in England.
The manor or manerium suggests a "house" or "hall"
from which taxes were collected. But a typical manor is
not easily arrived at. It might have been a small plot of
land without a house, or it might consist of many acres
of land with several large houses. 10 The manor, a unit
in the economic organization of the kingdom, was a source
of income and was taxed by the king. Tenants living on
manorial land held their portions by a variety of services
and payments in kind to the lord of the manor. The land
itself v/as divided into the lord's land and that of the free
and servile dwellers on the manor. The fields of the manor
had to be cultivated, its forests hewn down, its herds
tended, its buildings kept in repair by the villein or serf
who labored for the lord as well as for himself. To the
king the lord of the manor owed certain obligations, such
as personal military service, taxes, men and arms in case
of war, and lodging when the king traveled.
Whereas the mark theory can scarcely be considered
as a preceptor, or even as a contemporary, of bookland
and folkland, the manorial estates, from the evidence at
hand, grew out of the royal grants of bookland. These
7Boissonade, P., Life and Work in Medieval Europe (New York, 1927),
9. . . pastura communis omnibus hominibus de htmdredt . . . de Cole-
loOne bishop of Langres possessed a whole county.
grants, which tended to convey the possession of the land,
practically the only source of wealth, from collective
groups to individuals, favored more those who enjoyed
political and social power. Kings increased their holdings
by taking over disinherited lands, one-third of all plun-
der and tribal lands and by conquest, judicial sentences
and the partial seizure of the lands of the village com-
munities. Great Church estates were gradually extended
out of the munificence of the upper, even lower, classes
and by means of reclamation and agricultural coloniza-
tion. Combining usurpation at the expense of communal
property, aggression against small landowners, pressure
on kings and colonization and by robbing short-sighted
rulers of States, the lay aristocracy developed a conse-
quential territorial power. In England the nobility 11 so
successfully fabricated rich manors that in the eleventh
century two-thirds of England was in the hands of a few
liThanes, earls and ealdormen.
Spring HtU (^uarierhj
G. STOCKMAN O'ROURKE, '39
Managing Editor Business Manager
JACK T. HALLADAY, '39 ACTRY D. GREER, '40
John L. Bacon, '40 Edward Balthrop, '40 F. Taylor Peck, '41
Alfred O. Lambeau, '39 Caldwell T. Delaney, '41 David J. Loveman, '42
Paul V. Byrne, '39 Frank B. Rauch, '41 Edward W. Leslie, '39
Thomas F. Sweeney, '39 John De Ornellas, '42
John L. Mechem, '41
Redmond J. Reilly, '40
TO THE CLASS OF '39
This final double issue of the Spring
Hill Quarterly appears at a time when
the half happy, half sad memories of
Commencement Day are still uppermost
in the minds of all those connected with
the dear alma mater and especially in the
minds of the graduating class. To the
latter, the Quarterly extends a hand of
congratulation, well wishes, and fond fare-
Although in these present days the
sweet sorrow of departure may weigh
heavily upon your spirits, Class of '39,
there is one particular thought which
should raise them and inspire them. As
you leave Spring Hill, perhaps never to
return for many a long day, there re-
mains between you and the college a bond
of common aspirations, ideals, loyalty.
This bond, strengthened and perfected
by four years of common activities and
close association, will not only link you
forever with the future destiny of your
alma mater, but it will act as a common
tie between each and every graduate so
that no matter how far time and space
may separate you, never will you grow
far apart in spirit. The magic name of
Spring Hill will be as a rallying cry for
the men from the college on the Hill.
However, you should not only be linked
in the intangible bond of fellowship, but
also in the practical bond of common ac-
tion. Every move which seeks to advance
the welfare of Spring Hill and the things
she stands for should have your enthus-
iastic support. Every move in the oppo-
site direction should be opposed by a
solid phalanx of Spring Hill men. More-
over, you should make common cause
with men of similar ideals; and, in united
efforts, foster those principles that are
dear to Spring Hill College and to Spring
As the present editors of this publica-
tion bring to a close their period of office,
they are filled with a realization of the
weaknesses and inadequacies of their
efforts more than with the natural sense
of satisfaction that comes from having
played some small part in fashioning a
magazine worthy of the name Spring Hill
For these weaknesses and inadequacies,
we can only plead the excuse of inexper-
ience owing to the fact that this is the
first magazine of this type ever published
at Spring Hill. Even here we feel that we
have failed to profit as much as we should
by the able guidance of our faculty mod-
erator. The few feeble forward steps that
we have taken in the right direction we
owe to this guidance.
For the future we have great hopes.
This is not a hope based on fond phan-
tasms but on sound reality. For one thing,
we leave behind a nucleus of talented
staff members and contributors. For an-
other, we leave behind a loyal group of
readers and friends who are zealous for
the success of the Quarterly. For these
and other reasons, we hope to see a much
improved magazine next year and during
the years to follow.
As we bid farewell to our friends, the
editors make a final and urgent plea to
them. Do not let the Spring Hill Quarter-
ly die! Whatever its defects, it contains
the germ of something extremely worth-
while to Spring Hill and her students. The
first and most difficult step has been ta-
ken. Do not hesitate to press onward!
Long before the destruction of Jerusa-
lem and the dispersal of the populace, the
Jews were regarded with undisguised
contempt by their Roman conquerors and
neighbors; an attitude that changed but
little with the advent of Christianity,
since Christian peoples were inclined
more to scorn and injure the Jews than
they were to apply the Christian princi-
ples of compassion and love. The practice
of pilloring the Jews has not ceased in
modern times with its fresh antagonism
and racial hatreds.
In support of anti-Semitism innumera-
ble arguments, drawn from cultural, eco-
nomic, political, religious and racial
sources, have been advanced, though none
of them long withstand the probing light
of reason. It has been alleged that the
Jews in modren States are an alien race,
staunchly and covertly united by ties of
blood and religion, and wholly out of sym-
pathy with the national ideals of their
adopted land. Moreover, the power they
wield is far out of proportion to their
Unquestionably the Jew appears to fuse
slowly with other cultural groups, though
often enough the fault is not his, for too
frequently his neighbors look upon him
with suspicion if not with outright hos-
tility and literally shun him. But to his
credit he has become a national of what-
ever nation has given him shelter. His is
no anti-race whose racial characteristics
cannot be obliterated, for to attribute
that to the Jew is to exaggerate national-
ism and exalt the racial pride.
Too often we forget that all Jews are
not alike. Just as there are good and bad
Catholics and Protestants, so there are
good and bad Jews. An entire group can-
not be castigated for the evil done by
certain individuals within the group; it
would be an injustice. Of the fifteen mil-
lion Jews in the universe most of them
are still faithful to their religious tradi-
tions. But there is another group who, as
freethinkers and atheists, are akin to the
former only by ties of race. These are
the Jews whose phenomenal organizing
and mental abilities and control of capi-
tal are a distinct menace to Christian civ-
ilization. These are the Jews among whom
are those who by embracing Communism
are infecting with discontent the poor
and unemployed in our great cities and
propagating class revolution. These are
the Jews among whom are numbered the
nternational bankers and capitalists
whose power sways governments to their
The vast majority of Jews are poor
people. But there exists a small select
group X'ealthy beyond comparison and
exerting "untoward power and influence
by its virtual control of universal capi-
tal. These Jewish plutocrats in internat-
ional banking and world-wide investments
virtually monopolize the output of mines
and munition works, international news
services and cables, the furniture and
clothing industries, cinema and theatri-
cal enterprises, the tobacco and drug in-
dustries, commerce and press. Through
their investments these very wealthy
Jews have acquired a power out of all
proportion to their numerical paucity.
This lopsided power concentrated in the
hands of a few inevitably leads to popu-
lar fear and then to opposition and in-
tense hostility which gradually come not
without reason, for too often a monied
class gains control of a government to its
own class interests. This anti-Semitism
thus created by the excessive wealth and
power of a few Jewish plutocrats is pop-
ularly directed not at the instigators, but
unreasonably and unjustly at the entire
The evil cannot be cured by legisla-
ting against the Jewish race or against
individuals, but rather by measures de-
signed to curb the abuses; for if indi-
vidual Jews are deprived of practicing ex-
tortions, the molding of public opinion to
their will, and other abuses they will
merely be replaced by other exploiters
As Christians we must reject anti-
Semitism as offending justice and char-
ity. It would be fallacy to conclude that
because some Irish politicians are cor-
rupt that all Irishmen are politically cor-
rupt or because some Italians are gang-
sters that all Italians are gangsters. Like-
wise because some Jews are bad, it does
not follow that all Jews are; and there-
fore there is no sane reason why all
Irishmen, all Italians or all Jews should
be unjustly punished for the failings of
some of them. It would not be charitable
because all of us are fundamentally alike
and redeemed by Christ. It is only nat-
ural that we should love one another as
brothers modelled after the image and
likeness of the same Creator. And hence
there is no Jew or Gentile, but all sprung
of the same human race.
IN THE REGAL STYLE
The recent American visit of the King
and Queen of England was hailed on both
sides of the Atlantic as symbolic of the
community interests and racial brother-
hood of English-speaking America and
the British Empire. That cry was loudest
on the British side, so loud as to sound
somewhat frantic. Yet even democratic
America, so notoriously susceptible to
royalty and pageantry, joined in the cry
almost as heartily after viewing the gra-
ciousness and good fellowship of their
It is worth noting, however, that at the
same time their Majesties were visiting
Washington, the first official visit of the
English since they burnt it in 1814, Nev-
ille Chamberlain was making less osten-
tatious and more frank overtures to the
Soviet Republic. At the same time the
gracious King and Queen were viewing
a display of America's aerial might at
Washington, nervous British military at-
taches were noting the number and size
of Hitler's bombers, roaring over Berlin,
within two hours striking distance of
Buckingham Palace. At the same time
her Majesty spoke to Canadian and Amer-
ican audiences of the "glorious brother-
hood" of the English-speaking peoples,
Adolf Hitler warned the Western Euro-
pean democracies of the perhaps less glo-
rious but far more sinister brotherhood
of the Fascist States of Europe. At the
same time their Majesties reminded us
of the indissoluble tie between England
and America, Franco was placing heavy
guns to bear on Gibraltor, ready to untie
the British Empire's life-line in the Med-
iterranean. And almost at the same time
that their Majesties viewed with grief
and sympathy the tomb of America's un-
known soldier of the World War, the
British Government quietly refused pay-
ment of another installment of her war
debt to the United States.
Americans have always thrilled emo-
tionally to Nelson's words at Trafalgar,
"England expects every man to do his
duty." Today, they might do better to
think cooly of the implications of a little
book published recently, whose significant
title is "England Expects Every Ameri-
can To Do His Duty."
A few years ago the Legion of Decen-
cy was instituted to purge the motion
picture industry of filth on the silver
screen. So effective was the campaign
that the cinema magnates outdid one an-
other in a frantic effort to bring respect-
ability to their films, for they came to
realize, tardily enough, that an aroused
public opinion makes box office receipts
A new legion of decency has been
growing steadily for the past year. It is
a campaign to destroy irreligious and ob-
scene literature which, under the guise
of promoting art or physical education,
or of propagating essential truths, has
been circulating suggestive and demora-
lizing matter. That this illicit publishing
business is a successful and lucrative en-
terprise is readily apparent from the fact
that the thirty odd questionable publica-
tions of ten years ago have been multi-
plied to more than four hundred and fifty
with an aggregate monthly circulation in
excess of fifteen million subscribers.
Moreover, collusion is indicated among
the publishers of smut because patrons
of different concerns have been ap-
proached by the publishers of other in-
decent books and photographs and of
literature definitely atheistic and com-
This is no myth. It is not an exaggera-
tion. No man, no matter how strong a
character, he is, can long resist the occa-
sion of sin and survive. Suggestive read-
ing and subtle pictorial reviews blunt
the conscience and stir the basest pas-
sions in mankind. Just as germs pene-
trate and destroy the health of the body
by engendering contagion and death, so
do the germs of moral destruction seep
in and destroy inherent modesty and de-
votion to chastity with the result that
lascivious habits of thought and desire
are stimulated and sooner or later comes
utter moral destruction.
The cancer is so widespread that the
entire fabric of Christian morality is
gravely endangered. The morality and
faith of youth, of the family and of so-
ciety are being broken down and unless
stern measures are taken to suppress the
growth of immorality, the moral, social
and national life of America will be irre-
parably harmed. And the outcome is al-
ready evident, for the United States has
become the world's problem child with
unchecked murder, contraception, wide-
spread divorce, sex crimes, venereal dis-
ease, and infidelities and crimes of all
To withstand the malicious inroads on
Christianity a stand must be made. That
fight has already begun. Free China set
the counter attack in motion two years
ago by barring the sale of indecent and
pornographic literature including the so-
called American "art" magazines. In the
United States civic and religious bodies,
organized on a large scale, are cleansing
and keeping clean the displays of periodi-
cals on the newsstands by a strict boy-'
cott. And one Baptist minister in New
York has even gone so far as to suggest
that the sensuous picture magazines and
filthy stories be confiscated and burned.
But the fight has only begun. There is
much to be done. And most of this work
will have to be done without the assist-
ance of the law enforcing agencies, for
the municipal governments of most of
the American cities are proverbially lax
in the suppression of vice. Even the pos-
tal regulations are none too comprehen-
sive and, while it is true that the federal
government has removed from the sec-
ond class privilege some of the more de-
moralizing magazines, nevertheless too
many extremely harmful and degrading-
publications manage to stay on the bor-
derline of interpreted and applied crim-
We, too, can help eradicate the cheap
and shady publications that come to our
knowledge by refusing to purchase them.
We can insist that vendors remove ob-
jectionable magazines from display and
failing this cooperation of the newsdeal-
ers threat of boycott will bring them to
reason. Wherever public opinion is pow-
erless to clean up the magazine counters,
then the law enforcement agencies should
be impressed. Be it remembered, how-
ever, that periodicals that tend to stain
youth and lower moral standards — and
they run into the hundreds — can be put
out of business if you and I refuse to
purchase them, for public opinion once
stirred will convince the publishers and
distributors of copyrighted filth that in-
decency does not pay, just as the film
magnates discovered a few years ago.
NISI VIDETIS: THE No. 1 PROBLEM
While financiers and capitalists in the
North point caustically to the South as
the United States' number one economic
problem, Southerners can turn, beckon
equally as caustically to the North, and
call it the nation's number one social
Reared in traditions the North never
knew, the South, in disdainful indiffer-
ence, can indicate the ever-increasing in-
dustrial turmoil, social discontent, and
interracial agitation which daily belea-
guer Northerners' social harmony. A hot-
bed of capital-labor disturbance and con-
flicting politico-economic ideologies, the
cradle of American industry extending
from the Atlantic seaboard to the Mis-
sissippi is nursing those very forces
which if they reach maturity will subvert
te entire social order — and with it the
security guaranteed to the life, limb, and
home of every American.
The South, meanwhile, their attendant
mass discontent, the services of avaric-
ious, professional agitators who get their
pap-suck only from the dissatisfied, has
been free from the taint of class con-
sciousness. But this freedom from the
ravages of Communism, Semitism, Anti-
Semitism, Fascism et al., has bred an
oblivion to the aggressiveness of these
forces in the North.
Southern educational institutions an-
nually turn out large quotas of graduates
who have it only by hearsay that many of
their Northern collegiate kin have sought
the power of knowledge only for the
purpose of altering the American social
panorama to suit their particular credos.
Warped by agitation into considering the
American social order as one of class
struggle to be ended only by the annihila-
tion of a class, many of the city bred
have made it their vocation to set about
agitating, "liberating," and creating gen-
eral unrest in the name if any various
When the South shall have awakened
to notice the wave of disturbance which
is constantly sapping the economic
strength and social stability of the North,
it shall then be able to hold forth as the
stronghold of American tradition. Recog-
nizing its social supremacy over the Nor-
thern tradition, the South shall be able
to foster a new code of industrial and
economic ethics, based on the guarantees
of the Constitution, to supplant the dis-
content and dissatisfaction rampant in
the industrial world today.
Few outside the Catholic Church grasp
the menace of Communism to American
Democracy and its ideals. It is therefore
not surprising that a retired Army officer,
General George Mosely, a citizen who had
sacrificed the virile years of his life to
the nation, should be publicly rebuked for
Un-American and treasonable activities,
when his worst offence was his partiot-
ism, his Americanism. "Wideawake"
Americans called the General an old fogy
who did not know any better. But the
charges against the General were un-
founded; he had merely exercised the
same privilege his opponents claim — the
uncensored right of speaking as he saw
Freedom of speech and of the press,
in a word, tolerance, is rapidly becoming
the monopoly of aliens and other advo-
cates of foreign ideologies. Communism,
especially, is the favored child of Ameri-
can privileges; for Communists are per-
mitted to undermine the American tradi-
tions by spreading world revolutionary
ideas, disrupting labor organizations,
spreading class hatred and impregnating
confusion in the entire fabric of Ameri-
can social life. Whosoever doth oppose
these aims is obviously a Fascist, an anti-
Americans are easily deluded by the
insidious propaganda of Communism
whose proponents cram government po-
sitions in city, State and nation, hold
teaching chairs in universities and in
schools, and dominate labor movements
and social unrest with but one end in
view — the overturning of the American
Americans must come to realize the
lurking menace of Communism before
there comes a recurrence of the Russian
and Spanish experiments in our own
country- Now is the time to crush in
America Communism, Fascism, and all
other dangerous alien "isms."
Ante-Bellum Natchez: Its Architecture
• John E. Goetz
A NTE-BELLUM home too often conjures up the iso-
lated concept of a four-columned colonial mansion
nestled in a neat grove of trees, as the axis of a planta-
tion. This conception may be typical of most Southern
cities, but it is not true of Natchez whose ante-bellum
residences have been acclaimed by critics as the largest
and fairest variety of ante-bellum homes in the South-
land. Even the furnishings of Natchez's fine old homes
are distinctive and unique, and as a part of the original
setting lend a charm that is truly Southern.
Bravely perched atop lofty bluffs lashed by the turbu-
lent Father of the Waters, Natchez is a city of southwest
Mississippi that is equally rich in historical lore, charm-
ing architecture and natural beauty. The impressive mon-
uments of past grandeur 'neath five flags indicate that
Natchez is a living memorial of the Old South and a chal-
lenge to the New.
Most of the splendid old homes in Natchez were built
in two sections each in a different era. Glenfield, a pic-
turesque brick cottage villa set down on a knoll surround-
ed by timberland, is no exception. The two sections were
built in distinct periods. The rear wing, erected about
1812, has thick walls rising from the ground, low ceilings
and small windows barred with shutters to exclude ma-
The front section of Glenfield was constructed in the
mid-forties. It is definitely English Gothic with double
halls and galleries in front and rear which create an at-
mosphere of substantial comfort and carry out an idea of
simplicity and breadth. Enclosed with handhewn blinds
is a summer dining room that occupies the rear veran-
The outward appearance of Glenfield is deceptive for
it has more rooms than many of the more pretentious
dwellings. The rooms are large, high ceilinged and mar-
ble mantled with furnishings indicative of the fifties.
Much of the furniture and fixtures has been so cleverly
carved by slave cabinet makers that few can distinguish
their work from the product of foreign craftsmen. The
interior is completely equipped with priceless early Amer-
ican antiques, and a remarkable feature of the interior
woodwork is that its first coating of paint still survives.
In direct contrast to Glenfield's simplicity is Stanton
Hall, a lordly memorial to ante-bellum taste and grand-
eur. Prodigality of treatment and gorgeous material make
Stanton Hall luxurious without, however, undue orna-
mentation or ostentation. On a plot of ground covering an
entire city block in the heart of Natchez, the town home
of the Stantons is built on a central eminence above the
street in the midst of century old oaks.
Preeminently imposing is the front entrance of Stanton
Hall with a double-decked portico upheld by massive
Corinthian columns which frame the solid mahogany en-
trance in a vestibule covered with marble flooring. Gran-
ite steps approach the lower floor of the portico which is
inlaid entirely with dark grey and white mosaics. Lovely
wrought iron banisters, designed in rose, enclose the two
galleries and the vestibules are formed by monumental
mahogany doors with fluted pilasters.
An extremely long hall with tall ceilings separate on
either side tremendous double rooms and is itself broken
midway by an unsupported overhead ceiling arch in
oriental carving. A recessed mahogany railed staircase
rises in elliptical gyrations to the third floor where it
forms a sort of rotunda. The landings are faced by ex-
quisite bronze work.
The color theme on either side of the long hall is chiefly
white — woodwork, walls, ornamentation and marble
mantles — with fruit and floral carvings. On the right is
a large front drawing room separated from the music
room behind by an attractive arch attached to the ceiling.
Murals adorn the walls of the music room at the end of
which massive mahogany doors open out upon an ex-
pansive ballroom whose full length mirrors at either end
reflect light from exquisite chandeliers. A side balcony
circumscribed by delicate wrought iron grillework is ap-
proached by a large bay window opening out from the
Across the hall are a library* exquisitely adorned in
white, reflecting in a floor-to-ceiling mirror magnificent
handhewn bookcases and secretaries, and a dining hall
done in soft green with white woodwork. Added attrac-
tions of the banquet chamber are two fireplaces with Car-
rara marble mantles above and bronze chandeliers, hem-
med in by foliage arabesques, each suspended at opposite
ends of the apartment.
Most of Stanton Hall's statuary, bronzes, woodwork,
mantles, mirrors and other fixtures and appurtenances
were imported from France and Italy; the brick used,
however, was burnt in native kilns. Stanton Hall is re-
markably preserved and it is still a show place of the
The origin of one of the loveliest specimens of Amer-
ican provincial architecture is shrouded in mystery. The
*Now used as a drawing room.
Elms dates back apparently to the Spanish regime. The
elder wing was probably built in 1783. That this section
is of Spanish origin is apparent from the floor plan, low
ceilings, narrow window facing, huge iron hinges and
paved brick courts.
The Elms proper is quaint and set off by a beautiful
simplicity of line. Completely enveloping the residence
are extra wide porches which cover more ground than the
living quarters. The ceilings in the older section of the
dwelling are not over nine feet high, though the second
wing, erected in 1856, are much higher. The brick walls
have the thickness of a fortress.
Delicate hand-turned balustrades enclose the upper
galleries. Formerly the galleries were joined by an iron
staircase that was at one time outdoors.
Arlington, one of the most stately and perfect exam-
ples of Southern colonial architecture, was built in 1816.
It is patterned after a Roman brick villa with Tuscan col-
umns that soar two stories and support a classic gallery.
The doors are handhewn and surmounted by sublime fan-
The interior of Arlington is as rich and imposing as its
exterior. Italian masters adorn the walls of the ballroom.
Family portraits and a crystal chandelier in the music
room; rare china, crystal, and imported silverware in the
dining room ; and rich upholstering and satin damask
hangings with century old curtains in the parlor show
exquisite taste and lend an added air of refinement.
Gothic bookcases in the library shelve more than eight
No home in the Natchez region appeals more strongly
to the imagination or recalls more vividly the poignant
tragedy of the Civil War than Longwood, the mansion
partially erected on the eve of the War Between the
States and never completed.
Had war been deferred a few months the rising Moor-
ish castle would have been finished and Italian marble
and statuary, seized by the blockade, would have im-
proved the interior embellishment. But the insistent notes
of the bugle forced the workmen to throw down their
tools, hastily remove scaffolding, leave brushes to dry
in freshly opened cans of paint and put away in a corner
exquisite carved mouldings where they have lain undis-
turbed for eight decades.
Incomplete as the thirty-two room Moorish castle is,
Longwood is nevertheless a pillar of strength and a model
of skilled craftsmanship. It was the architect's plan to
effect a design not only exquisite but unique. And insofar
as the execution of that design was possible he succeeded ;
for Longwood is a masterpiece of architectural beauty
and art, rising grandly for five stories and merging into
a cupola on the sixth that overshadows a vast forest and
commands a wide vista. But Longwood is, first and last,
a tragic reminder of shattered hopes and frustrated
Richmond is a most unusual ante-bellum home, for
there are incorporated into the building three separate
and distinct residences, each reflecting an episode in
Of the three sections the center is the most intriguing.
Erected in 1784, it is a choice specimen of provincial
Spanish workmanship. The rear section, built in 1832, is
a plain two-story brick structure of the type prevalent in
Boston in the early eighteenth century. The front is a
colonial structure with classic portico and entrance char-
acteristic of the South during the golden era preceding
1861. It was built of brick severely proportioned in 1860.
A creation of 1852, Lansdowne in its fine simplicity is
an almost perfect specimen of Georgian architecture.
Wide steps rise in a graceful sweep from a brick court
on each side of which is an old carriage block. The portico
has fluted Doric columns and wrought iron banisters in
a Greek lyre motif.
The opulence of ante-bellum days is more intimately
associated with the rear of the main building. Facing
each other across a large brick court are two-storied
houses quite as large as an ordinary home. One formerly
sheltered an office and a large billiard hall, with a class-
room above and apartments for the governess ; the other
housed a kitchen and a laundry with servants' quarters
above. It is interesting to note that practically all the es-
tablishments of the well-to-do had their cooking and laun-
dering done in another building whence they were car-
ried in to the master's lodgings.
Once a striking contrast to the usual ante-bellum Geor-
gian architecture Elmscourt is redolent of Venice and the
Renaissance Italian cities. In place of canals, Elmscourt
stands centrally aloof in a wooded park approached by
a winding driveway that becomes semicircular at the en-
trance to the mansion. The central section of Elmscourt,
erected abiut 1810, is elevated two stories and looks down
on either side upon single-story wings that lend great
breadth and dignity to the structure. Extending across
the entire front is a wide gallery bounded by graceful
wrought iron banisters and supports of delicate iron fret-
work designed in a Greek motif.
Chaste and beautiful D'Evereux with tall columns glis-
tening in the sunlight, broad galleries and a spacious en-
trance, is reminiscent of an ancient Greek temple set
amidst a sacred grove. D'Evereux was built in 1840 of
pure classic Southern Colonial architecture. Set on square
pedestals its six fluted columns support a gently sloping
roof which shelters a broad gallery protracted across the
width of the house. Peculiar to D'Evereux is a wrought
iron balcony over the front entrance.
A wide and ample hall with a double drawing room on
one side and banquet chambers on the other pierces the
center of the building. And gracefully winding upwards
for three flights is a semicircular mahogany railed stair-
way. The interior of D'Evereux is a reliquary of lovely
antiques and pleasant memories.
Monteigne is a startling departure from the prevalent
type of architecture of the fifties since it is an almost
perfect replica of the Swiss Chalet. It was built in 1855
on what seems to have been the site of an old fort.
Romansque columns and wrought iron balustrades
grace the exterior, while marble floors in black and white
mosaics and hand-block Zuber wallpaper exhibit to the
best advantage luxurious furnishings and priceless an-
tiques. The classic symmetry of the mansion is carried out
to perfection in the grounds and gardens.
Monmouth,* characterized by vigorous lines and stur-
dy brick walls, bears evidence of Spanish influence with its
ponderous square pillars and slate floored porticos. Com-
modious double rooms grace each side of a wide hall
which is approached by twin front and rear doors made
especially attractive by delicately wrought fanlights and
deeply recessed sidelights. Winding along the wall at the
end of the hallway is a handsome mahogany railed stair-
Access to the kitchen, laundry, smokehouse, washroom
and carriage house is made possible by the extension of
the second floor over the first floor of the servants' quar-
Many other lovely mansions of ante-bellum times are
to be found in the Natchez region, but a treatise of this
nature must necessarily be brief. Suffice that the homes
studied are typical of the area and manifest the debt
Southern architecture owes to other nations. It must be
observed, however, that while the wealthy planters of
Natchez borrowed profusely from other lands, they chose
only the best and produced beauty and simplicity as a
setting for their lavishness.
The oldest homes of the Natchez region were built
during the Spanish occupancy. Characterized by low-
ceilinged buildings held together by handhewn beams and
hickory pegs, the earliest dwellings contrast acutely with
♦Completed in 1818.
the stately, tall-columned mansions of the cotton aris-
tocracy which readied the acme of prosperity just prior
to the War Between the States.
Natchez in the first half of the nineteenth century was
extremely wealthy and one of the better known Ameri-
can cities on the Continent. To the show places of the
Southern aristocracy came famous Europeans and Amer-
icans who were royally entertained.
Natchez is no longer world famous, but it retains many
of the precious treasures in architecture and antiques that
once gave it prominence. And on the ruins of the old
planter aristocracy a new order is arising that augurs
well for the future of southwestern Mississippi.
Is O'Neill Anti- Religions?
© By Jack Halladay
THE maladjusted characters presented by Eugene
O'Neill in his thirty-five plays of death and destruc-
tion are, according to Professor S. K. Winther of the Uni-
versity of Washington, one and all undone by the trag-
edy of harboring romantic illusions.
Whether these characters are undone by illusion or not,
the fact remains that practically every O'Neill figure
comes to a tragic end and this predominant note in
O'Neill's plays has given rise to the opinion that the play-
wright is both defeatist and anti-religious.
Critics have asserted that O'Neill is a propagandist,
who, consciously or inadvertently, attacks conventional
religion because science and psychoanalysis reveal man
as only a machine which often runs askew.
I will admit there are many things which support their
contention. One of the strongest is that strange and pow-
erful impressionistic play, The Hairy Ape. When O'Neill
wrote The Hairy Ape, science had given the psychological
idea of possible regression an enormous impetus. The
worldly concept had changed from redemption — in which
man could safely look backward — to evolution, in which
man viewed his past in fear and horror.
The Hairy Ape exemplifies this mood, and on the sur-
face, the play is a dynamic account of a regressive man
whose disintegration leads him back to the hairy ape.
Moreover, there are other O'Neill plays which rely on
evolution and scientific principles apparently at war with
conventional religion and the divine comedy view of life
in which death is equivalent to birth to a greater life.
The First Man is scientific and evolutionary on the
whole, and leads to pessimism. Fatalism is the character-
istic note of Mourning Becomes Electra. Extreme morbid-
ity and a sombre quality are apparent in Desire Under
the Elms, while Strange Interlude is built upon a frame-
work of false values and disintegration.
The Rope concerns the children of a miserly and scrip-
ture-quoting hypocrite who owns a farm bordering on
the sea and has hidden a large sum in gold. While the
son, daughter and son-in-law agree to torture the old
man into revealing where he has hidden the money, a
little child finds the gold pieces and throws them one by
one into the sea "to watch them skip." This play leaves
one with an utter sense of defeat and is one of the black-
est in the O'Neill repertoire.
However, I believe that the morbidity and defeatist
quality of some of the author's plays do not justify the
attitude of some critics in saying that O'Neill is anti-
religious. On the contrary, it is quite a simple problem to
prove that he is not.
If O'Neill believed in the principles of behavoiristic
philosophy, he would not make every one of his plays
dwell upon conscience. In all of O'Neill's plays there is
that which is vastly important in contrast to the prevail-
ing moods of the day in which he wrote — namely, the in-
stant recognition of evil as evil.
If, in the early short plays of O'Neill there is a pre-
ponderance of the defeated note, at least in Bound East
for Cardiff, we have the early intimations of ultimate tri-
umph. The dying Yank, worried over a man he had killed
in self-defense, cries out to his friend, Driscoll: "D'yuh
think He'll hold it up against me?"
Even the "Hairy Ape" never admits complete defeat.
He dies with a magnificent gesture of defiance : "Ah,
what de hell ! No squawkin', get me ! Croak wit your boots
Then grabbing the bars of the cage, and even in his
death throes, he shouts in the strident tones of a circus
barker: "Ladies, and gents, step forward and take a slant
at de one and only — one and original — Hairy Ape from
de wilds of ... "
The dauntless "hairy ape" finds thought a painful pro-
cess to himself, but he cannot go back to the state of the
animal to which he was likened. He realizes he is be-
tween Heaven and Hell, "takin' de woist punches of bot'
of 'em," but he dies without despair.
There are intimations of faith in some of O'Neill's other
dramas. O'Neill indicated there is something "beyond the
horizon" in his play by that name. Robert Mayo, while
pointing at the horizon, dies with this vision : " . . . only
through sacrifice — the secret beyond there — ."
Ann Christie finds redemption in the sea — the sea
which makes her clean and wholesome again.
The Great God Brown dies exultantly, having finally
arrived at the knowledge of God:
Who art! Who art! I know! I have found Him! I hear Him
speak! "Blessed are they that weep, for they shall laugh!"
The laughter of Heaven sows earth with a rain of tears, and
out of Earth's transfigured birth-pain the laughter of Man re- 1
turns to bless and play again in innumerable dancing gales of
flame upon the knees of God!
To clinch the argument against those persons who be-
lieve O'Neill is anti-religious, it is only necessary to cite
one of O'Neill's own statements and to refer to his latest
play, Days Without End, which is patently a confession
of belief in the principles of the Catholic faith.
O'Neill himself once said: "Mo&t modern plays are con-
cerned with the relation between man and man, but that
does not interest me at all. I am interested only in the
relation between man and God."
The whole plot of Days Without End deals with the
struggle of a man for his lost faith, and the transcendant
scene of the play shows the hero and another actor who
represents the hero's evil self fighting all the way to the
foot of the cross.
The hero's voice rises ecstatically, his eyes on the face
of the Crucified:
Thou art the Way — the Truth — the Resurrection and the
Life, and he that believeth in Thy Love, his love shall never
His alter ego, an actor in half-mask, dies utterly
Thou hast conquered, Lord. Thou are — the End. Forgive —
the damned soul — of John Loving!
O'Neill's faith rises at such times to exalted vision and
mystic ecstasy, yet throughout all of his plays runs a
characteristic morbidity. How can such opposites be re-
Richard Dana Skinner calls it the poetic nature of
O'Neill — the struggling soul who at one time is in a
slough of despond and then climbs to vision :
What has puzzled many admirers of O'Neill's work as well
as many of his severe critics has been precisely the outcrop-
ping of "morbidity" and defeat in so many of his plays, con-
trasted with his obviously sincere and aspiring search for
forces and solutions that will draw his characters out of the
mire. But if we keep steadily in mind that the inner unity of
his work follows the hills and valleys of the classic poet's
pilgrimage, these apparent contradictions become not only
understandable but almost inevitable. It is their very quality
of surge and relapse, and the increasing strength and maturity
with which recurrent struggles are handled that establish
the authenticity of O'Neill's poetic sweep.
A Lay . . .
• F. Taylor Peck
ONCE, when the Arch of the World was young, and
all its stones, laid one upon the other, reared up a
matchless tower into the Heavens, a pilgrim, who stood
in the mingling shadows under the great vault at sunset,
saw that one of the smallest stones in the wall's surface
had been loosened. Small as the stone was, it had within
itself the deepest green of the entire seas. And he reas-
oned with himself.
"Why should not I take this one small stone with me
for my wife? One stone, more or less, does not weaken the
World, and my wife will be pleased. Why should I not
be free to take away from that which I gave?"
And he took the stone and left the place. But he had
loosened the companion stone, which was the green of
spring herbs, to that which he had taken. Likewise, on the
following day a merchant of the city, passing under the
great vault of the Arch, saw that a stone was missing and
that its companion stone had been loosened. And he
reasoned with himself.
"Since someone has taken a stone unnoticed, and its
companion stone is now loose, why should I not take the
loose stone to sell in the temples? If one may do this
thing before me, why not I?"
And he took the stone and left the place. Yet another
man came, and another, and another, each taking away
the loose green stones, one for one purpose, another for
another, until the wall of the Arch was pierced and the
great vault sagged and cracked.
When the priests heard of the disaster, they went be-
fore the Emperor, seeking his aid in remedying this
thing. And they fell before him lamenting.
"O Great Lord, forbid these things, lest the people
steal away more stones from the wall, and the vault be
destroyed, and the whole Arch cave in upon the city."
When the Emperor heard their words, he was much
displeased, and ordered that a guard might be placed
around the wall to keep the people away. But in the night
some of the soldiers took some of the stones to sell on
the market-place. They spoke among themselves.
"For what end do we maintain this crumbling struc-
ture? The whole Arch falls shortly. Let us remove all
that we are able while there is still time."
And they took away many of the green stones, until,
when the great bells of the tower tolled the first hour of
the morning, with the scream of stone on stone, the Arch
fell upon the soldiers, and the priests, and the midst of the
city. The tumult of the fall sounded and resounded to
the ends of the land until multitudes were gathered in
that place. When they heard of the death of the soldiers
and the priests and saw the greatness of the desolation,
they threw themselves upon the ruin, each to gather for
himself as many of the stones as possible, with fighting
Chaos reigned. Those that had stones desired more,
saying to themselves that nothing was to be more highly
prized than green stones, and those men who had no
stones were driven out as paupers. At length the people
fell exhausted from the struggle. Hate entered the land.
Then came an aged sage who taught them.
"Put all your stones together and rebuild thus the Arch
of the World."
Then they built foundations, and walls, but when they
came to replace the keystone of the Arch, it was not to
be had. And there was confusion among them, for some
would use one stone and some would use another. They
fought, and in the violence the walls fell again. Yet the
sage taught them again.
"Ever it was thus. The Arch of the World will be built,
and destroyed, and built again until that keystone is
found which will complete the Arch and satisfy the mul-
titude, for many stones will complete the Arch, since
there are many kinds of arches, but few will agree that
one arch is as good as another arch. They will not be the
same as the first Arch. The more fool they that dispute
over the Arch, for though the shape is the same and the
whole is green, the color is mixed and the combination of
them will differ. Green stones, like mankind, are mixtures
of heavenly blue and earthly yellow — some having more
blue — some having more yellow — yet all are used in mak-
ing the pattern of the Arch. Seek ye not, therefore, to
restore to yourself that which is past, but build that which
is the future."
And they did, and . . .
Cicero: His Personality
Alfred O. Lambeau
THE classical scholar undoubtedly recognizes the
abundance of material which enables him to interpret
the Golden Age of Roman eloquence and Cicero, its voice.
But nevertheless, too few realize that the responsibility
for this material lies upon Cicero himself, who has given
us some eight hundred letters by which we are able to
feel the pulse of the times. Duff has termed his material
as of evidential value and refers to Cicero as the supreme
index to his age. 1 True, Cicero was a personality, yet with-
al he was a type and hence we can see in Cicero an index
to his age, because he represents in all its complexity the
Roman mind at the time. The key to this index and to
Cicero's personality is to be found in his letters which
form the basis of this discussion.
In considering his epistles we must bear in mind that
Cicero had no hand in their collection. The very fact that
they are, as it were, the spontaneous overflow of his emo-
tions makes them acceptable as portraits of Cicero. It
goes without saying that the letters do have a political
and a social significance which are permeated by the
force of Cicero's personality. It is impossible to miss his
own thoughts and feelings which come as sincere out-
bursts of one friend to another. There is no need for sham
here, especially in his letters to Atticus, the tutelary
genius on whose shoulder he wept, shifted his burdens,
and heaped on egocentrical praises. In reading his cor-
respondence it is difficult to overlook his constancy, which
is so often in evidence.
Persistence was his forte. A persistence not unlike that
of a small child who has been promised something and
does not receive it immediately. It can be seen especially
in the letters which he wrote Atticus in reference to the
Megaric marbles which Atticus had promised him. 2 In
this seemingly simple example there s an underlying sym-
bolism of the spirit of the times ever to reach out and at-
Another example of this spirit is manifested in his in-
tense application to study. Truly the one place Cicero was
at ease was his study. A great deal of the intensity of
study is due most probably to his political ambition, for
it was not difficult for him to perceive the necessity of
study as an aid to the realization of his ambition. It was
iDuff, Literary History of Rome, p. 351.
2Cicero, Epistolarum ad Atticum, 1:8, 9, 10.
this ambition that filled the very heart and soul of Cicero.
This ambition instilled in him an energetic spirit of
patriotism which is hard to equal. Yet unkindly or pos-
sibly unknowing authors have attempted to define this
patriotism as political tactics. His creed will, I think, dis-
credit this theory. In short, it was, "I do not court popu-
larity by relaxing my principles." 3 He let his conscience
guide him, not the opinions of men. No one's patriotism
could be more unmistakable than Cicero's in these lines:
A cura autem nulla me res divellet, vel quod ita rectum
est, vel quod rebus meus maxime consentaneum, vel quod a
senatu quanti fiam, mlnime me paenitet.4
His love for the Republic was so unwavering that he
was blinded to its true condition, just as his personal van-
ity had led him to disregard the machinations of Clodius ;
a blindness that accounts probably for Cicero's inability
to decide which party to follow. This very hesitation some
authorities attribute to politics and others to a lack of
patriotism. I, however, prefer to interpret it as an acute
case of over-patriotism. Fowler terms it "lack of insight"
In his political career he exhibited a lack of that insight
which enables the great statesman to foresee inevitable chang-
es and therefore he strove to preserve an old system of gov-
ernment at a time when its influence had passed. 5
In attempting to explain his transferring or rather his
continual changing of allegiance in the light of patriotism
or politics, we encounter several factors. Cicero repeated-
ly gave up politics for which he was never really fitted,
yet his patriotism, perhaps even his vanity, led him back
again and again.
He was the opponent of all who aimed at power by usurp-
ation or unconstitutional means, and devoted to those who
promised to be capable of restoring a government like that of
the old Republic. 6
Strangely enough, Cicero himself has supplied all the
charges against him, mainly because of his voluminosity
and frankness as a letter writer. His motto of life was,
"cedant arma togae" ; in time of revolution he champion-
ed orderly procedure ; naturally, such a character would
be admired by the liberty-loving democrats in those days
of early dictatorship.
At this point it might be well to inquire why Cicero's
desperate endeavors to save the Republic ended in failure.
While Caesar was still in Gaul Cicero wrote. "We retain
^Cicero, Op. cit., 1:19.
4Cicero, Op. cit., 1:20.
5Fowler, History of Roman Literature, p. 81.
eRolfe, Cicero and His Influence, p. 22.
only the form of the commonwealth, but have since lost
its substance"; yet he acted as if the old Republic re-
mained unchanged. Many say he failed because he
adopted the wrong party. Nevertheless, his preference
for Pompey over Caesar is easily understood for Caesar
was known to be a man who did not respect ancient and
hallowed tradition — a fact piqued Cicero's vanity and in-
nate timidity; whereas Pompey had let more than one
chance slip by without making himself a dictator — just
why, it is hard to say. Cicero justifies this association with
Pompey as patriotism and entreats us to look upon the
situation in the right light . . .
Please don't imagine I have allied myself to him solely to
save my skin, the position of affairs is such that if we bore
any disagreement there would of necessity have been great
discord in the State.?
There is also a hint of that lack of courage which is so
often attributed to him. At present, however, this is of
little concern. The situation was apparently the choice
of two evils, and Cicero chose not only the lesser, but,
unfortunately, the one that happened to go down in de-
In the warfare between Caesar and Pompey he sided
first with Pompey, became neutral, returned to the cause
of Pompey, again became neutral, and with his customary
lack of discretion finally joined forces with the losing side
just before it lost. His was a "yes" and "no" complex.
Despite his indecisiveness he remained prudently true
to the Republic and to his republican convictions whilst
Caesar was in power. His lack of realism and devotion to
patriotism led him to be completely deceived by Octavian
in the chaos following Caesar's assassination. In a final
outburst of fervor he denounced Marc Anthony and his
I defended the Republic as a young man I will not aban-
don It now that I am old. I scorned the sword of Catiline, I
will not quail before yours.8
No, I will rather cheerfully expose my own person if the
liberty of the city can be restored by my death. 9
The fact that he made common cause with his enemies
(?) against Marc Anthony at once bears eloquent tribute
to his patriotic zeal, With Cicero first, last and always it
was the Republic.
7Cicero, Op. cit., 2:1.
sCicero, Epistolarum ad Atticum, 2:17. Cicero himself admits his van-
ity and thirst for fame: "The little strain of vanity and thirst that
there is in me ... it is a good thing to recognize one's own faults."
He is sincere, but he so minimizes the situation that many are
prone to forgive him.
There was in Cicero a self-complacency and vanity,
which were incurable mostly because he lacked the neces-
sary realism to perceive his error. 10 Instances of vanity in
his letters are innumerable, for not once did Cicero miss
an opportunity to sing praises of himself. The epitome of
his vanity is expressed most aptly in his own words:
"tibi neque quemquam antepono." The concession here is
most noteworthy and must have meant a great deal to
Aiticus. This vanity is not hard to understand if one
keeps in mind the fact that Cicero was a self-made man —
novus homo, who adored his creator. He lived in his own
private world, so steeped in himself that at times it was
a wonder he preserved any friendships. His excessive
vanity was his most conspicuous fault. The approval of
his conscience meant more to him than the opinions of
men. This indeed is a noble attitude, yet Cicero overdid
it and as a result, lost many friends. Surely those friend-
ships which he did retain and most especially that of
Atticus must have been true, for only a friend in the true
sense of the word would have stood the burden that was
Cicero. Macaulay goes so far as to say, "His whole soul
was under the domination of girlish vanity and a craven
fear. ,, The statement is indeed severe, yet it testifies to
the fact that he did possess a vanity which may or may
not have been effeminate, but at least was much too prom-
This vice might also be explained by his ambition, for
he aspired to become the most distinguished figure of his
time; after each success he was less able to control his
satisfaction and became the very personification of van-
With all this, Cicero did have friends and nowhere is
the fact better attested to than in his letters. Their very
regularity would seem to prove to us that these friend-
ships were lasting. The fact that he wrote letters is ade-
quate proof that he possessed strong ties.
True, Cicero had less friends than he might have had.
But those he numbered among his friends enjoyed a
warmth and a sincerity one would hardly expect from
such a self-centered character. It is hard to believe that
Cicero did not feel his self-imposed lack of friendship.
He was too engrossed in his own private world. Once in-
side this private domain he was "a human rather than a
heroic personality." 12 He was a good friend but made an
even better enemy. To those within his circle of intimates
he was sensitive, emotional and highly conscientious.
locicero, Op. Cit., 1:15. "We (Cicero and his brother Quintus) have al-
ways had a keen regard for our reputation and both are considered
unusually Philhellenic and our public servicse have wished us a
host of well wishes."
HBaker, Twelve Centuries of Rome, p. 322. "He believe himself a
matchless hero and a second father of his country."
Cicero's habit of acting first and thinking afterwards
was hardly conducive to drawing about him a circle of
intimates since it led to an imperfect judgment of char-
acter. Typical of Cicero's friendships (?) outside his
"world" is the picture given us by John Buchan :
He had been notoriously ungrateful to Julius who had
befriended him; he had been willing to use Octavian as a tool
but made no secrets of his intentions to discard him when he
had served his purpose. is
Cicero's friendship with Atticus, however, must have
been true affection ; for Atticus served Cicero as banker,
broker, political advisor, confessor, publicity man, stab-
ilizer, ambassador, and in numerous other positions. Cic-
ero did hundreds of things which were enough to try the
patience of a dozen Jobs. The very fact that Atticus en-
dured innumerable tribulations is proof of the genuineness
of their friendship.
Cicero's exile must have been a sad awakening for him.
He must have realized for the first time how few were
his devoted friends, but fortunately he was able to enjoy
to the fullest those still true to him. On the very eve of
his catastrophe he clung to his pitiful confidence in the
loyalty of his friends.
His exile must have made him cognizant of some of
his undiplomatic actions regarding his friends, for he
Tibi tamen eo plus debebo, quo tua in me humanitas
fuerit excelsior quam in te mea.14
Cicero did at length realize this lack of friendly appre-
ciation for he implied a change in this regard as brought
about by his exile:
Nisi etiam praetermisso fructus tuae suavitatis praeteriti
temporis omnes exegero.15
This period of exile not only made him aware of the
value of true friends, but it also brought out in him that
cowardly strain with which so many writers plague
him. Suicide was a byword with Cicero during his exile.
However, it is indeed unfair to brand as a coward one who
arose so courageously on every occasion, save one — his
banishment. Every letter of this period is filled with ab-
ject misery, "Ego vivo miserrimus et maximo dolore con-
ficior." Yet it is not hard to find cause for his misery.
i2He justified certain associations that might seem unsavory to Atticus
by a choice bit of diplomacy: Vides enim, in quo cursu sumus et
quam omnes gratias non modo retinendas, verum etiam acquirendas
i3Cicero, Op. cit., 2:25.
i4Cicero, Op. cit., 4:1.
iscicero, Op. cit., 3:5.
Perhaps it is best expressed in the fears he made patent
for the safety of the Republic, during what must have
been to him an interminable hell. It was thoughts such
as these that occupied his mind at the time:
De re publica, breviter ad te scribam; jam enim, charta ipsa
ne nos prodat, pertimesco . . .17 De re publica cotidie magis
It is incredible to think that this could be the "craven
fear" of which Macaulay spoke. Regarding his suicidal
tendencies, Poteat suggests Cicero protests too much and
that his repeated references were due either to a pitiful
attempt to achieve a martyred air, or to move his friends
to a warmer expression, or even to stimulate their activity
on his part. Livy is able to see only one example in which
Cicero overcame his cowardice or lack of courage — his
death in high Roman fashion — "the only misfortune of
his life which he faced like a man." 19
Thus Cicero was able to conquer his "craven fear"
(natural timidity), proving he was able to act on occa-
sion with supreme audacity. Unfortunately he was auda-
cious at the wrong time; when he was caustic it was to
those who might have been his friends; when he leaped
into action he was usually late ; and when at last he de-
voted himself to his studies Rome needed him most.
With all these characteristics Cicero dearly loved his
daughter Tullia. This paternal affection amounted to a
craze which is readily understood in the light of his un-
happy marital ventures. His life with Terentia was any-
thing but peaceful. She cared little for her husband and
used him only as a means of obtaining her personal am-
bitions. Her position as wife of Cicero she appreciated
only in as much as it meant social prestige. One cannot
blame him for not loving the socially mad Terentia. She
never shared his ambitions. Moreover, her lack of warmth
for her husband drew Cicero and his daughter into a
closer bond of association.
The references to Tullia are few and far between until
her tragic death. Then one can see the sorrows of his
heart as though written in tears — "sed opprimor interdum
et vix resisto dolori." 20
His grief must have been unbearable for at the time
his mind was gravely stirred by the collapse of the Re-
public and with it his joy of living. His letters are full of
this great sorrow that killed his soul,
i6Cicero, Op. cit., 2:20.
i7Cicero, Op. cit., 7:5.
i8Poteeat, Selected Letters of Cicero, j). 122.
i9Cicero Epistolarum ad familiaris, 4:6.
20poteat, Op. cit., p. 185.
Nunc autem, hoc tarn gravi vulnere, etiam ilia, quae co-
sanuisse videbantur, recundescunt.21
Tullia must have been the chief joy of his life. Poteat
says that Cicero especially enjoyed her intellectual com-
panionship, for Terentia took not the least interest in her
husband and his work.
Many regard his letters to Terentia during his exile as
evidence of his love for her, but it seems more than likely
that time hung on his hands and that he experienced
sorrow in exile. Let us refer to one he wrote in the year
of his divorce:
Misit ilia* mini et adscripsit tantum esse reliquim cum
hoc parvum de parvo detraxerit, perspicis, quid in maxima re
One can hardly blame him for his lack of love, rather
one wonders how he tolerated her as long as he did.
We have considered Cicero as an index to his age by
means of his letters which are an expression of the Roman
mind of the period. In passing we saw that there existed
a political and a social significance, yet the point of this
discussion has evolved around his personality rather than
the times. His personality is apparent in his persistence,
patriotism, fear, love, hatred and courage, all of which
is revealed through his letters. Thus one feels a debt of
gratitude to him who has given us so vivid a portrait of
himself. We have convinced ourselves of his inordinate
vanity, his quick susceptibility and his liability to be
seized and to be mastered by an event of the moment.
One of his own contemporaries, has said this of his
letters: "Anyone who perused them would hardly need
a finished history of these times;" and we may add that
Cicero was the Voice of the times and the Personality of
2iCicero, Op. cit., 2:8. This companionship was not purely intellectual.
22Cicero, Op. cit., 11:24.
The Architecture of Mobile
G Caldwell Delaney
ARCHITECTURE, above all other arts, has been, and
must continue to be, close to nature. For it alone of
all the fine arts is inseparable from utility. Man has
painted pictures and composed music for no more useful
purpose than to please his senses, but he has seldom been
known to erect buildings simply to give vent to his artis-
tic enthusiasm. Every building, no matter how humble
or how grand, has a foreordained purpose ; and that pur-
pose ninety per cent of the time is the sheltering of human
iSince architecture, by its very nature, must be vir-
tually immobile, and since it is designed primarily to shel-
ter human life, it follows naturally that the determining
factor of its shape and form must be the climate of its
specific location. This is particularly true of any region
in which the weather makes any radical departure from
the average — such as an unusually long cold or warm
season or unusual quantities of rain. It could only be ex-
pected, then, that the sub-tropical climate and heavy rain-
fall of the Gulf Coast would strongly influence the trends
of its native and original architecture. And such has
been the case ; but let us approach the subject by a chron-
ological rather than a merely logical method.
The first account we have of architecture native to Mo-
bile is given by diarists of De Soto's party who were with
him at the siege and destruction of the great Indian city
of Maubila on the Tombigbee in 1539. According to their
journals, the party of Spaniards stood spellbound at their
first glimpse of the community, gazing with unbelieving
eyes across a grassy plain to where the massive walls and
domed towers of an oriental city rose abruptly from the
banks of a large river. In the siege which followed they
discovered that the walls and towers were less forboding
than they first appeared, being of a timber foundation
plastered with a sort of native adobe, but the city must
go down in history just the same as one of the most archi-
tectually interesting and unusual yet found in the new
world. Of what the walls enclosed, we know little. Ac-
counts state that there were eighty structures, each capa-
ble of accommodating a thousand warriors, ranged
around a central plaza within the city; but details as to
their construction and decoration are aggravatingly lack-
ing. Obviously the people who produced such a city had
reached a high state of civilization, but we have no way
of knowing from whom they borrowed their architec-
tural designs or their oriental influences. All we can be
certain of is that they used plaster extensively and had
some knowledge of military fortifications and the dome.
Nearly two hundred years pass before we find another
record of architectural advancement on the Gulf Coast.
This time it is the French who arrive, and, in typical
French fashion, bring a great deal of France with them.
It rained incessantly as they laid out their city in 1702,
and the construction of buildings was hasty. The cot-
tages they constructed were modest, usually of one or
two rooms, and were thatched with palmetto. They took
heed of the weather as they worked, however, and were
careful to leave ample overhanging eaves to protect their
doors from the seemingly endless rains. With the return
of the sun friendly Indians appeared, a remnant of the
Maubilians who had fared so badly at the hands of De
Soto, and the French learned from them a valuable se-
cret. By burning the abundant oyster shells of the coastal
banks, they discovered, they could produce an excellent
native lime, and by mixing the lime with worked sand
secure a strong and durable plaster. It was the secret of
the oriental walls of Maubila, and it became the staple of
the famous "creole cottage" of the Gulf Coast.
Time also proved that it was unwise to build flush with
the ground. The lowness of the site chosen for the city
and the proximity of the bay combined to maintain an
unhealthy dampness in anything that came in actual con-
tact with the earth. Houses came to be built on brick or
timber foundations with ample openings left for the free
circulation of air. The Indian's plaster proved to be an
excellent material for wall construction, either as a true
plaster or as a filler when poured between wooden up-
rights, and was generally used in all types of buildings.
As the inhabitants became more accustomed to the cli-
mate they began to realize also that the overhanging
eaves could well serve two purposes. For the long, wanu
summer made indoor living unbearable, and every bit of
shade was at a premium. Eaves crept steadily outward as
the summer wore on until it was finally necessary to sup-
port them. It was only a step then to the deliberately con-
structed gallery, and the cottage was almost complete.
Under the spell of the freedom and bounty of their
New World homes the Frenchmen had been generous in
granting and apportioning lands. Every home owner had
at least one ample city lot, and more could be secured if
he required them, so what need was there to be frugal
with property? Evidently there was none, so they were
not. Instead of packing their houses together in neat
European rows with their narrow pointed roofs facing
the street, they placed them generously broad side for-
ward and buttressed them at the ends with sturdy brick
chimneys. Natural Latin friendliness prompted them to
build on the very curb that they might converse more
easily with their equally friendly neighbor, and their
galleries often swept across the narrow streets almost to
touch those of the houses opposite.
An increase in wealth and importance brought some
attempts to introduce the more pretentious type of stuc-
coed villa built around a court, but the cottage was the
product of nature, and it remained. By the time of the
Spanish regime, however, the city had been moved down
the river several miles to its present site, and the hacienda
type did achieve some popularity. Nevertheless, the so-
called Spanish Colonial type of architecture had had its
day by the time the Castillian governors arrived, and the
buildings which were erected under the new influence
were copied from Spain itself rather than from the older
This strongly Spanish type usually took the form of a
rather ample building, one room deep, which was built
around and over a central tunnel-like carriage drive. A
gallery of delicately wrought iron covered the facade,
usually supporting only an open railed balcony at the sec-
ond story,* but sometimes being complete with a full
second story gallery which spanned the carriage drive.**
In the rear the house dissolved into two separate wings,
set at opposite ends, which frequently turned at the rear
corners of the lot to come together again opposite the
tunnel-like entrance from the street. The result was a
square court completely surrounded by the sprawling
house and entered only from the carriage drive giving
off the street. Only the house proper was devoted to the
use of the master's family, the extended wings being the
kitchen, laundry, servants quarters, stables, and other
buildings necessary to a household of the time. A heavy
iron gate of ornate grillwork closed the street entrance
at night and made the house little less than a fort.
With the break-up of the Spanish colonial empire Mo-
bile fell into the hands of the young American Republic,
and there was an immediate influx of northern pioneers
and capitalists. With the introduction of cotton-growing
on a large scale attention was turned again to the erec-
tion of comfortable country homes, and again nature's
product, the Creole cottage, came to the fore. The weal-
thy American, however, took only the principle and add-
ed the particulars to suit his own taste. The long hipped
roof sloping gently to the back and front was retained,
♦Conception Street between Government and Conti.
**Joachim between Dauphin and Saint Francis.
and so were the end chimneys. Weatherboarding replaced
plaster as a general rule for the outside walls; but some
whim, either of sentiment or mere surrender to conven-
tion, moved the more affluent builders to retain the plas-
tered walls on the facade beneath the gallery. The house
was gradually enlarged until it became square rather
than oblong, and the roof assumed an even more generous
sweep. A long hall divided the building into two equal
parts and opened by broad doors upon the front and rear
galleries. In the summer, with all doors and windows
open, the entire house became little more than a large
and well shaded pavilion — the only thing tenable during
the warmer months. To the right of the hall were usually
the living room* and the dining room; on the left were
two large bedrooms. All four rooms were square, and
each had a fireplace — necessitating the addition of a
chimney to each end wall. A narrow stair often led to
the second floor where two dormered rooms occupied the
rather ample attic. The kitchen was moved some distance
from the house, and food was carried back and forth by
slaves. Blinds at both doors and windows added to the
general coolness of the interior by shutting out the glare
but at the same time permitting air to circulate with com-
This was the type of house which developed in the rich
farm lands immediately surrounding Mobile. In the city
proper it took a similar form, but had a few variations.
Convention was strong enough to keep the houses at the
sidewalk's very edge, but the outside kitchen became al-
most impossible in the close quarters of the city. Happily
someone conceived the idea of raising the entire building
and placing it upon a brick basement flush with the
ground. This provided space not only for the kitchen but
also often for the cargoes of the master's ships, since the
houses' owners were also frequently shipowners and
captains. A large door placed in the front wall, flush with
the sidewalk, made movement of the stores easy while
the captain's family lived its natural life undisturbed in
the upper floors above the street, but the difficulty was
easily remedied by furnishing a flight of broad steps at
one end ; the result being greater privacy with no loss of
utility. In the country too the houses came eventually to
be raised upon high brick pillars, but for a different rea-
son. The dread scourge of Yellow Fever had appeared,
and escape from the dampness and "foul air" of the
earth was considered essential to good health. Today
many of these plaster-faced cottages still line Mobile
streets, and their crumbling basements and tottering gal-
leries form one of the city's most impressive monuments
to the grace and dignity of its French ancestors.
The influx of Northern gold and the rise of cotton ush-
ered in the Golden Age and the classical revival. Strange-
ly enough, however, Mobile secured few outstanding
examples of that type of house knowpi generally as
"Southern Colonial" or "Classic." Indeed, it can boast of
only one real erample of the southern plantation house
as it is generally pictured. That one house,* however, is
an excellent example of the style. The fifty-foot double
drawing room, with its exquisitely carved marble man-
tles and classic cornices has all the stately dignity of the
era in which it was built. The mahogany spiral stair is
also an excellent feature and typical of the time ; but by
far its finest single feature, the magnificent colonnade
which sweeps across the main building, down its side, and
across the front of the wings, is one grand display of
gleaming white forty-foot columns. Spring Hill has the
finest local examples of the classic influence in the smal-
ler one-story building. The "Eslave House" has beauti-
fully proportioned and exquisitely finished drawing rooms
and library, and our own "Stewartfield" is unique in its
magnificent circular ballroom.
It was in ecclesiastical architecture, however, that the
classic influence made itself most strongly felt. For the
city boasts no less than four churches of the period, each
of which is a masterpiece in itself. Christ Episcopal and
the church locally known as "The Beehive" may be con-
sidered together in their claims to being almost perfect
examples of Greek proportion and decoration. Govern-
ment Street Presbyterian Church is probably the finest
example of classic architecture to be found in the South.
There is little that can be said of it except that it is per-
fect in every detail — walls, ceiling, galleries, pulpit- —
even pews — being in an excellent state of repair and in
perfect harmony as a whole. The Cathedral portico, con-
sidered alone, is a magnificent thing, and the finest single
architectural feature of the city. It is unfortunate that
the building as a unit does not carry out its perfect pro-
portions and simple dignity. There is no town house
worthy of being considered an outstanding example of
Luckily for the city, the classic trend was checked at
its height by a decided renaissance of interest in Latin
backgrounds and traditions. The wave of enthusiasm
which followed gave to the city some of its most beautiful
remaining architectural creations. Thomas S. James, a
local architect who was responsible for all the afore-
mentioned classic masterpieces, set the pace by designing
the lavish Southern Market (now the City Hall) in the
*The Bragg house on Springhill Avenue.
French Colonial style and adorning it with grillwork of
unbelievable delicacy. The creation of plastered masonry
and lacelike iron took the city by storm and installed a
vogue which was to last long after the cotton empire,
which brought it forth, had crumbled and disappeared.
The vogue was an overwhelming return to the use of
ornamental iron grillwork. To give any adequate account
of its use in general would be to describe every house with
which it was adorned, for the intricate designs employed
in its patterns ran the gamut from classic medallions to
garlands of grapes and flowers. Suffice it to say, how-
ever, that the house was generally of red brick, square,
and with at least one wing. The gallery covered complete-
ly the lower facade of the house, and quite frequently
extended to the upper floor and the wings. The house, oth-
er than the gallery, was typically Victorian and had few
artistic merits. A few outstanding exceptions should be
mentioned, however. The residence now occupied by the
Bishop is one of the finest specimens preserved and has
unique features. It is an example of the Italian influence
and shows it strongly in such features as the spiral stairs
which wind gracefully down a three-story well in the
center of the house. The sixty-foot drawing room was a
marvel even of its own day, and its clustered marble col-
umns remain as marvelous examples of the craftsmanship
of the period. The room was originally adorned with a
painted frieze of magnolia blooms and wild roses and
imported marble mantles. Time and the whims of occu-
pants have done much damage, however, and there is
little left of the former glory. The Goldsby mansion high-
er on Government Street also has a noteworthy drawing
room and a graceful mahogany stair. All of the houses
are lavishly adorned with plaster decorations in the form
of scrolls and floral designs, but it is a feature common to
all southern architecture and not typically Mobilian.
Mobile's architecture is both rich and varied, and,
above all else, it is original. The Victorian fad for iron-
work had its beginning on this continent simultaneously
in this city and New Orleans; but Mobile stands alone
in one supreme gift to domestic architecture — the Creole
Gentlemen, My Card!
• Edward Balthrop, Jr.
THE great man sat at his desk. Before him was a large
map, over which he was poring and on which, from
time to time, he moved around little red pins. Evidently
he had been studying the map for a long time ; evidently,
too, he was not very well satisfied with the results of his
Victor Emmanuel was restless; he had work to do, and
he was anxious to get at it. He tossed aside the map dis-
gustedly and began to pace the floor.
He waited; he paced.
When the door opened, he walked relievedly toward it.
A servant entered. 'Signor Joseph Garibaldi, " he an-
"Good," exclaimed the king. "Show him in at once."
The servant withdrew and Victor Emmanuel reclaimed
the composure that is requisite of a republican king.
The door was opened again and a red shirt entered.
The man inside the shirt dropped to one knee. "Your
majesty," he said.
"Never mind, Joseph," Victor said, condescendingly.
"Formalities can be discarded. We are alone."
Garibaldi smiled knowingly:* He understood his sov-
ereign well and appreciated him.
"Come, Joseph, let us get down to business," the king
began ; then he went back to his desk and spread out the
Garibaldi hastily pulled up a chair and looked at the
result of Victor's labor.
He smiled approvingly, yet condescendingly.
"You have the situation well in hand, your majesty,"
he approved. "Rome will be ours quickly and easily."
"I am not yet satisfied, Joseph," the king objected.
"But, majesty," came the reply, "the maneuvers you
have here indicated would make our campaign quick and
"But, Joseph, the bloodshed it entails."
"Majesty, you know as well as I that bloodshed is nec-
essary in war. It cannot be prevented. Besides" — this was
accompanied with a smile — "you had not such qualms
when I whipped your friend Francis in the Sicilies."
"Seizing the land of the Sicilies was easily done. It was
simple compared to this."
"Majesty, I can't see it. Francis had more soldiers and
showed much more resistance. Why, the Pope has only a
handful of Swiss soldiers and he can't, even if he would,
show much resistance. And he won't."
"Pope Pius won't show armed resistance, Joseph. You
are right there. But the moral resistance he shows will
cause us a lot of trouble. He has too many friends and
subjects all over the world for this aggression to be passed
"Majesty, let them protest. After the first quick move,
Rome will be ours. You will move in and Italy will be a
united kingdom. When this is done, let them shout. Who
"Joseph," the king remonstrated, "you are too negli-
gent of public sentiment. It can do a lot."
"Your majesty, to a united Italy, public opinion can do
nothing. The shouts of the world will fall off like pebbles
from a wall."
"Joseph, you are a soldier, not a diplomat. I already
knew that, but you show it more clearly now."
Garibaldi was pleased. "Majesty, you are right," he said,
"I am a soldier. My duty is a soldier's one. And my job
at present is a soldier's. But after my job is done, you
must take up ; you must handle public sentiment. That is
your task — yours and your ministers'. In the meantime,
let us make plans to get this done as quickly as possible"
— he smiled — "so your job of handling the protests will
come all the more quickly."
"The plan is simple," the king explained. "We have
sixty thousand men. Napoleon's soldiers are gone, so all
the Pope has is his Swiss guard. We march in, take what-
ever confronts us, and set up our national government."
"It is truly a simple thing," Garibaldi agreed, "except
for one thing, the Swiss guard."
"The Swiss guard is negligent," Victor retorted.
"What can that handful do against my army?"
"Enough," Garibaldi said, "to excite the storm of pro-
test you fear so much."
"True, too true, Joseph," said Victor, "but what can we
do? The guard must be defeated."
"Majesty, it must. I am afraid it must. I made plans
for its not fighting, but I am afraid they fell through."
"Joseph," the king ridiculed, "the Swiss not fight.
"Majesty," Garibaldi explained, "if they had no leader,
they would not fight. Their leader, Luigi Antonelli, is a
Sardinian, a former subject of yours. He was early placed
in the papal service and in it he rose to the leadership of
the papal guard. Remember, he serves the Pope, but he
is a Sardinian."
"Joseph, you are right," the king exclaimed. "I will
get men to contact him at once. He may be forced — or he
may be bought. In any event, bloodshed can be prevent-
"Majesty, you are too late. I have tried to contact him
myself. But it cannot be done. Apparently no one can get
Victor Emmanuel's enthusiasm collapsed. He sighed.
"Then there must be bloodshed," he declared. He
brightened. "Didn't you say he was a Sardinian? Then
maybe he is still a Sardinian at heart. In this age of lib-
eralism and national unification, maybe his patriotism
can be played upon ; maybe, for a united Italy, he would
do anything, even betray the man who brought him up.
I will send a messenger at once." He reached for the
Garibaldi's voice stayed his hand. "Majesty, your pa-
triotism is foolish — and foolhardy, as you hope his will
be. Does it seem logical that a man would do for patriot-
ism what he refused to do for half the money in Sardinia?
It's foolish ; think it over."
"I guess it is," Victor agreed slowly. Then his shoulders
squared. "Then there will be bloodshed."
"I am afraid so, majesty; now, let us go over the plans
again, this time more carefully."
The king began. "Here is the Porta Pia. Here is the — ."
A knock came on the door; the servant entered.
"Signor Luigi Antonelli," he announced.
Garibaldi sat up quickly; the king appeared unmoved.
"Show him in," he said.
A tall, young man, noticeably military, entered. "Your
majesty," he saluted. Then he looked at Garibaldi as if
he questioned his presence.
Garibaldi was elated. "Did my men contact you," he
asked. "Were the terms satisfactory?"
The young man was puzzled. "Men, terms?" he quer-
Garibaldi saw he was getting nowhere ; he drew back
The young soldier drew himself up to his full height.
"Your majesty, Victor Emmanuel, I am Luigi Antonelli,
commander of the papal guard. You are my former king.
I am located at the Hotel Royal. Henceforth I am at your
"Excellent," breathed the king.
Antonelli continued. "Gentlemen, my card." With that
he saluted, wheeled, and left the room.
Garibaldi leaned over and looked at the white square
in the king's hand.
"Luigi Antonelli," he read; and underneath, "Captain
and Commander of the Papal Guard."
This last had a thin yet definite line drawn through it.
Underneath was printed in neat, black letters, "Patriot
and Advocate for a UNITED ITALY."
Garibaldi looked at his king. "Well/' he said.
AUTHOR'S NOTE— Unfortunately, the Swiss guard is made up
solely of Swiss soldiers; no Sardinian, or any other nationality, for
that matter, could join the Swiss guard. Much less could he rise to
the leadership of that guard. The story, then, is impossible on those
grounds; but the idea offered too great possibilities to be passed over
on such objections.
Church and State: The Kulturkampf
• Fred Schell
A MONG the trials and bitter opposition which the Cath-
olic Church sustained during the greater part of the
nineteenth century, none was so well calculated to deal
the Church a death blow as the German Kulturkampf of
the seventies. The thoroughness of plan and determina-
tion of execution made the Kulturkampf more severe and
cruel than Diocletian's persecution in the fourth century,
and more liable to achieve its end — the destruction of
the Catholic Church. Moreover, the time was well chosen.
The Pope was without temporal power — a prisoner
indeed. The feeling against the newly defined dogma*
was especially strong in Germany, where the systema-
tic warfare carried on by the Janus party against the
Vatican Council had warped the public mind. France,
the eldest daughter of the Church, was lying, bleeding
and crushed, at the feet of the conqueror. The time
seemed to have arrived when the bond which united
the Catholics of Germany with the Pope, and through
him with the Church universal, might easily be bro-
Comparing the two forces about to be linked in combat —
the seemingly many-factored weakness of the Church and
the apparent omnipotence of the German State — there
can be no doubt that the Church's prospect for any kind
of a successful resistance to the onslaught of the State
was not very bright.
The Kulturkampf was a later episode in that ever
recurring struggle between Church and State. It is a
rather typical instance of persecutions and yet it posses-
ses especial interest because of some noticeable person-
ages and events.
Bismarck, the most notable personage in the struggle,
was the typical aristocratic product of the Reformation
in Prussia; indifferent in religious matters personally,
thoroughly misunderstanding the Catholic Church, and
absorbed in worldly affairs. For eight years he devoted
his entire self and all his practical genuis to effect the
birth of the German nation. He had lived to see his work
accomplished and had been chosen the first chancellor
to direct its destinies. Problems as great in magnitude,
however, as that of political unity still confronted him.
The formation of the German Empire had involved him
in three wars, including those against two of the major
i"The persecution of the Catholic Church in the German Empire'
(Catholic World, XX, p. 292)
European powers, Austria and France, and their attitude
to the new nation was by no means friendly. To preserve
and foster the life of the infant nation against all possible
contingencies from within or without was a work not to
be undertaken by one less than Bismarck himself. This
very uncertainty and insecurity explains much of the be-
ginning of the Kulturkampf. To offset opposition from
without, Bismarck determined to establish a strong and
unified national solidarity with the new empire embracing
religion, language, education and political theory. With
this end in view Bismarck set about disposing of all fac-
tors which might oppose him. His suspicion naturally fell
first on the Catholics, and that for two reasons: (1) be-
cause Catholics were ultramontanes or spiritual subjects
of the Pope, and (2) because of their activity in politics,
and aims and ideals different from his.
In direct contrast with French Catholics, Ger-
man Catholics were loyal supporters of the State. Yet
because of an intolerant nationalism they were suspected
of being internationalists — "the black international" —
and consequently fell under Bismarck's disfavor. Bis-
marck thought "it was monstrous that all Germans of one
confession should be dependent upon a foreign power." 2
Misunderstanding the nature of the Catholic Church's
spiritual authority and conceiving it as a political power
disintegrating German unity and completely opposing his
plans, he acquired a great mistrust of papal action and a
lively animosity against any attempt to influence German
Catholics. He stated his mind clearly and openly in a
speech before the Bundesrat:
It is, in my opinion, a falsification of history and poli-
tics, this attitude of considering His Holiness, the
Pope, as the high priest of a religious denomination,
or the Catholic Church as a representative of church j
dom merely. The papacy has at all times been a politi-
cal power, interferring in a most resolute manner and
with the greatest success, in the secular affairs of
this world, which interference is contended for and
made its program.3
He betrays the Protestant's misunderstanding and mis-
trust of the Catholic Church and manifests what Ludwig
calls the "gaps in his acquaintance with ecclesiastical his-
tory." With this prejudicial judgment of the Church and
its utter incompatibility, as he saw it, with a unified Ger-
man nation free from foreign influence, we can under-
stand Bismarck's attitude of opposition to the Church.
Nor was his wonted determination, vigor and thorough-
ness lacking. He burst with rage against the definition of
2'Ludwig, Bismarck, p. 414.
3Larned, "Papacy," History for Ready Reference and Topical Reading,
IX, p. 2543.
Papal Infallibility which he considered an unjust arroga-
tion of limitless license to interfere in matters of state.
Though the definition of Papal Infallibility was merely
the public declaration of a very ancient reality and one
which added nothing new to the Church's power, Bis-
marck did not see it that way. He thundered forth in the
The dogmas of the Catholic Church, recently pro-
nounced and publicly promulgated, make it impossible
for any secular power to come to an understanding
with the Church without its own effacement, which
the German Empire, at least, cannot accept.4
The second reason for Bismarck's opposition to the
Catholic Church was the one which, above all others,
stands out as peculiar to the Kulturkampf, the existence
of a Catholic political party, formed and directed by ex-
emplary Catholic laymen, who waged an incessant con-
stitutional battle for the rights of their Church and fellow
Catholics. Catholics, as a body, had recently awakened
to a more active and energetic role in political matters
for their own protection. Catholic political activity be-
came concrete in the Centre party which had been formed
in 1870 by Windthorst, Mallinkrodt, and other Catholic
laymen as a militant Catholic party to defend politically
Catholic rights and to represent their own views. The
men who formed the Centre party had long been active
in politics and had consistently opposed some of Bis-
marck's cardinal tendencies. Most of them had wished to
admit Austria into the German nation against which Bis-
marck had fought from the beginning. This would have
given Catholic Austria great influence and would have
prevented the hegemony of Protestant Prussia. As "Par-
ticularists," Windthorst and many of the clericals were
either opposed to the new empire or to a strong central
government. They upheld the rights of the particular
states and rulers as opposed to the omnipotence of Prus-
sia and the Hohenzollerns.
The Centre appeared in the first Reichstag of 1871 with
a representation of sixty-three men. Neither conservatives
nor liberals exclusively, they had both aristocratic and
democratic elements. By reason of their possession of the
balance of power they frequently exercised a controlling
and decisive position in the Reichstag. Moreover, all the
dispossessed minorities — the Guelphs, the Poles and the
Alsatians — joined forces with the Centre in its policies.
The Centre party had a perfect right to exist as the cham-
pion and defender of Catholic rights which were express-
ly guaranteed in the Prussian constitution, and it had
4Larned, op. cit., p. 414.
also a perfect right to represent whatever legitimate po-
litical views it wished. The Catholic spirit of the party,
however, brought down upon them Bismarck's hatred and
he opposed the Centre as a party disloyal and dangerous
to the Empire and as "a mobilization of the Church
against the State." The Centre fought the Kulturkampf
and practically won against Bismarck, as its organization
and action formed the bulwark of the Church's defense
against an unwarranted interference in spiritual matters.
The activities of the Centre and more especially of its
leading personality, Windthorst, furnish one of the most
interesting aspects of the Kulturkampf. Windthorst's no-
ble, consistent, and loyal defense of the Church merits
for him a position among the world's outstanding Catho-
lic laymen. No less noted for his parliamentary skill than
for his Catholicity, Windthorst is said to have been the
only man ever to effect a personal conquest of Bismarck.
The whole bitter struggle was, therefore, from Bis-
marck's point of view, an attempt to dissipate that grim
spectre of Church domination of state affairs. Intent on
unifying the Empire internally in the face of hostile for-
eign sentiment, he was keenly vigilant of the disturbing
elements. Among these, the Catholics loomed before his
vision as the great opponent and so he, who had not
feared parliamentary and popular opposition at home,
with the characteristic determination of a strong-willed
and self-confident man set out to dispose of the Catho-
lics. Bismarck was certainly the spearhead and driving
force behind the Kulturkampf, though there were sev-
eral German factions which upheld and supported him in
the move. His principal proponents were the German
Lutherans, the Liberals and the "Old Catholic" party.
The German Lutherans, made up of the wealthier and
more influential classes, were especially opposed to the
Catholics a priori and rejoiced to see their power weak-
ened and their efforts at control of the German people
The Liberals, the nineteenth century intellectual phe-
nomenon that pervaded every group, had certain charac-
teristics that made them a group apart. One of these,
manifested not only in Germany but throughout Europe,
was an intense antagonism to the Catholic Church. Be-
cause of this antagonism to the Church, Pius IX had con-
demned Liberalism in 1867. 5 The political party formed
by the German Liberals was Bismarck's chief instrument
in passing the Kulturkampf's anti-Catholic legislation.
The third group of Bismarck supporters, the "Old Cath-
olics," comprised Catholics who had taken umbrage at
the definition of Papal Infallibility and had refused to
5Syllabus of Errors.
accept it as a dogma. They proposed to adhere to the old
Faith as distinguished from this innovation; hence their
name. This group received aid and encouragement from
Bismarck who desired to form a national Catholic Church
independent of the Pope and wholly subject to the State
even in matters of faith and morals. Though it did con-
stitute a disquieting element in German Catholicism, the
Old Catholic movement was stillborn since it was com-
prised of only a few bishops, priests and rationalists who
never had any great following or influence.
* * * *
The expulsion of religious orders, secularization of
marriage and education, curbing of religious practices,
fines and imprisonment were the legal measures resorted
to. Far from discouraging the Catholics, these measures
led to the growth and improvement of the Church.
Definite action against the Catholics began in 1871
by general measures intended to lessen Roman influence
in German affairs. The first step was the abolition of the
Catholic department of the Ministry of Public Worship
because, as was alleged, the members of this department
were guilty of intimate relations with the Poles, that dis-
turbing minority in German national life. Next the eccle-
siastical supervision of instruction and education, which
had been exercised conjointly with civil authorities, was
Neither merely accidental nor adopted to fit a given
occasion, these measures were a deliberate plan to alien-
ate thirteen million German Catholics from communion
with Rome and to form them into a national German
Church. The plan progressively increased in intensity and
measure was added to measure to the fullness of a bitter
and raging persecution.
The first incident involving friction between Catholics
and the German government was in connection with the
"Old Catholic" movement. According to the Prussian con-
stitution attendance at the gymnasium was obligatory to
all students but suitable Catholic instructors were pro-
vided for the religious instruction of Catholic students.
The bishop of Ermland had suspended the apostate relig-
ious instructor of the gymnasium of Braunsberg, a Dr.
Wollman, and had demanded his removal. The bishop so
petitioned Von Muhler, the Minister of Public Worship,
who, however, refused to remove Wollman, in accordance
with the governmental policy of favoring the "Old Cath-
olics" and interfering in Church affairs. This act, an open
violation of the Prussian constitution, trampled on the
rights of conscience by requiring that Catholics should
send their children to an excommunicated priest for in-
struction. It denied the bishop the right of controlling his
clergy and when the Pope tried to deprive certain apost-
ate bishops and priests of their functions and salaries the
recalcitrants appealed to the Prussian government which
upheld and continued them in office.
The Catholic bishops and priests of Prussia unanimous-
ly voiced their indignation at this unwarranted interfer-
ence in ecclesiastical affairs and denounced such activity
in strong sermons. Since Bismarck considered this an at-
tack on the government and an attempt of the clergy to
arouse the people against the State, he passed an amend-
ment to the criminal code making it a penal offense
punishable by two years' imprisonment for priests to
criticize the government from the pulpit.
The first great step to render the State Godless by de-
priving the people of spiritual ministrations came with
a violent attack on the religious orders and especially on
the Jesuits for their unswerving loyalty to the Pope and
their indefatigable activity in behalf of the laity. The
Jesuits' part in the Counter-Reformation in Germany had
earned for them the undying enmity of Protestant factions
who now resolved to be rid of them. In July, 1872 a
law was passed expelling the Jesuits, and kindred orders
from the Empire and closing their houses "on the plea
that they were emissaries from Rome." But this arbitrary
banishment of a large body of German citizens had serious
repercussions among the Catholic laity, who were roused
by this terrible punishment of men they knew to be inno-
cent of crime.
As early as January, 1873, the Catholic nobility had
proclaimed their fidelity to the Church and their firm
resolve to defend its rights and liberties. An organization,
the "Association of German Catholics," was formed
throughout the Empire and soon numbered hundreds of
thousands who rallied to the watchword, "neither rebel
nor apostate," by which they declared their loyalty to
both State and Church.
When Pius IX, in his fatherly solicitude, protested
against the action of the German State concerning the
religious orders, Bismarck, insulted, broke off relations
with the Vatican and diplomatically declared war. The
immediate manisfestation was the appointment of a noted
anti-clerical, Dr. Falk, to the position of Minister of Pub-
lic Worship. Falk conceived a plan of legislative acts by
which he calculated "to make the Catholic bishops inde-
pendent of Rome, the clergy independent of the bishops,
and both dependent on the State."
These laws, passed in May of 1873, 1874 and 1875 and
known as the "May Laws" or "Falk Laws," unjustly arro-
gated God's things to Caesar. Falk recognized as the
6Bismarck was childishly obsessed by the military nature of the So-
ciety of Jesus.
chief bulwark of German Catholicism the spiritual minis-
tration of the clergy, and so bent all his efforts to disrupt
it. He started by onslaughts against the pastoral ministry
of the clergy. In virtue of the "May Laws" of 1873 the
German State claimed the right to approve or annul all
ecclesiastical appointments and undertook to interdict the
exercise of religious functions by anyone appointed with-
out its consent. The bishop who appointed or the priest
who exercised his priestly office without govermental au-
thority was visited with heavy fines or imprisonment. The
government also claimed the right of reforming all discip-
linary decisions made by the bishops in regard to eccle-
siastics under their jurisdiction and even made bold to
depose any ecclesiastic whose conduct the government
considered "incompatible with public order." Finally the
government took control of the education of young can-
didates for the priesthood and required them to attend
secular universities and to pass governmental examina-
tions before being ordained. Seminaries that refused to
submit to supervision were closed. The Catholic episco-
pate of Prussia in a solemn protestation to the govern-
ment condemned this violation of the rights of conscience,
and religion. By declaring that the Falk Laws were null
and void and not binding on the German Catholics, 7 the
Pope was not attempting arbitrary jurisdiction in matters
of state but merely upholding the natural law which be-
stows on men certain inalienable rights which no govern-
ment has the power to revoke. Bismarck, while abusing
Church rights most arrogantly, resented the Pope's action
which he judged an attempt of Rome to regulate German
affairs, and he resolved to pursue his policy of crushing
the Church's influence to the very end.
To the active execution of these iniquitous laws the
Catholic clergy and laity offered a program of passive
resistance. They resisted the laws by rightful means, suf-
fered patiently when they had to, but never surrendered
their faith and love of God which the temporal power de-
manded. Their refusal to appear or to answer to charges
in court for violations of the May Laws and to pay fines
induced the government to adopt violent but unsatisfac-
tory measures that ultimately roused bitter feelings. The
government could imprison Catholics without trial and
confiscate their property, but to imprison and to confis-
cate the property of all without trial or proof appeared
The bishops and priests suffered more directly but the
laity was not exempt from persecution. Summons before
the law of bishops and priests, repeated and severe fines,
imprisonment and spoliation could not break the com-
bined passive opposition of the clergy and laity.
7In the papal bull "Quod Numquam."
Because the May Laws of 1873 did not appear suffi-
ciently harsh and tyrannical, the Prussians consequently
supplemented these laws in 1874 by clauses still more
unjust — civil marriage was made obligatory, candidates
for bishoprics were appointed by the State, and priests
were to be expelled. But these fresh efforts of squelching
the Church were as ineffective as the former measures.
Shortly after the promulgation of the new May Laws
practically all the Prussian sees were vacant and most of
the parishes were deprived of pastors. Yet no cathedral
chapter elected an administrator and no parish chose a
pastor. Exiled bishops governed their sees from abroad by
If anything the persecution had merely drawn tighter
the bonds of unity between bishops and clergy. Few of
the latter accepted the bribes of the government to apos-
tatize and in all Prussia there were not more than thirty
rationalistic professors and suspended priests who were
willing to side with Dollinger against the Holy See. When
the government discovered that both bishops and priests
were immovable in their devotion to the Church, the May
Laws of 1875 were enacted to create a schism in every
parish by empowering the laity to elect their own pastors.
But the attempt at enticing the Catholics of Prussia failed
utterly when the laity did not respond. Herr von Kirch-
mann, a Prussian deputy and partisan of the May Laws,
paid the Catholic laity a glowing tribute :
The clergy are upheld and supported by the great gen-
erosity of the Catholic people. The ovations which the
priests receive from their congregations when they
come forth from prison are not falling off but increas-
ing; and this is equally true of the pecuniary aid given
to them. It is possible that much of this may have
been gotten up by the priests themselves as demon-
stration, but the displeasure of the still powerful gov-
ernment officials which the participants incur, and the
greatness of the money offerings, are evidence of ear-
nest convictions. 8
What a testimony of the moral and material support given
the suffering clergy by a devoted people !
The friction produced by the ineffective May Laws
made exasperation almost boundless on all sides. Bis-
marck himself took charge of the situation. The Falkian
methods were too idealistic for him ; he would appeal to
the material wants of the Catholics. Accordingly, he with-
held all State payments to Catholic bishops, expelled all
religious orders except those engaged in nursing the sick,
confiscated all Church property, and finally abolished all
paragraphs of the Prussian constitution that appertained
to the Church.
8Von Kirchmann, Kulturkampf, p. 16.
It was soon clear to Bismarck that he was not attain-
ing his goal. Between him and the Centre party an acute
political struggle was being waged over all these issues.
The more fiercely the Kulturkampf raged, the keener
was the attack made by the Centre under Windthorst's
leadership against Bismarck's foreign policy. 9
In the November elections of 1875, in spite of every effort
made by the government, the Catholic representation in
the Landtag increased from fifty-two to eighty-nine, and
in the Reichstag from sixty-three to more than a hundred.
Windthorst, the Centre's leader, defeated at Meppen in
Hanover Falk, the author of the May Laws, by a majority
of nearly fifteen thousand — Falk polled a mere three hun-
dred and forty-seven votes. Windthorst was the little Da-
vid who balked the Goliath Bismarck in all his attacks
on the Church and stood like a champion for the rights
of the Church. Bismarck could not crush the mighty mite
who was Germany's greatest parliamentary leader. The
German Catholics flocked to the support of Windthorst
in whom they placed implicit trust and whom they rec-
ognized as their doughty leader against a despotic and
For four years the Kulturkampf had raged with in-
creasing violence and severity, but by 1875 the govern-
ment was in a quandary as to how it should continue its
policy. Von Gerlach, a Protestant and President of the
Court of Appeals of Magdeburg, testified that ingenuity
and cunning could not weaken the Church.
As for the Catholic Church (he wrote) persecution
strengthens her. In fact, her moral power is increased
under pressure. The Catholic Church is today more
compact, more united, more confident of herself, more
energetic, and better organized than she was at the
commencement of 1871. io
By 1877 Bismarck graudgingly admitted his mistaken
policy toward the Church. He, the mighty architect of
the German Empire, had gotten strife and opposition
where he sought internal unity. The Church he had tried
to stifle had grown stronger in adversity and underwent
a continual strengthening of its interior spiritual life. •
In that year the violent storm of the Kulturkampf was
dissipated by economic and political crosswinds. The Na-
tional Liberals, formerly staunch supporters of Bismarck
and his anti-clerical laws, embarrassed the Iron Chancel-
lor by refusing to support financial measures which Bis-
marck considered essential for the welfare of the nation.
Bismarck had reached an impasse. He no longer had par-
9Cambridge Modern History, vol. xii, p. 149.
lOCf. Catholic World, XX, p. 435.
Moreover, the socialist movement which Bismarck hat-
ed and feared had made great inroads in Germany and
the political representatives of socialism, the Social Demo-
crats, were increasing alarmingly.
Disheartened by his error of policy, defeat and oppo-
sition, Bismarck attempted to resign as Chancellor in
April, 1877. But the aged Emperor, who had found in
Bismarck his sole strength and dependence, refused to
accept his Chancellor's resignation. He granted his ser-
vant an unlimited leave of absence. Ten months later
Bismarck returned from the peace and quiet of his estate
at Varzin completely recruited in strength and spirit. His
attitude toward the Church changed. He welcomed the
friendly attitude of the new Pontiif , the genial Leo XIII,
even forgetting his proud boast made at the beginning of
We shall never go to Canossa, either in flesh or in
9|S SgE 3(5 afS
Negotiations for the termination of the Kulturkampf
in Germany began almost immediately upon the acces-
sion of Leo XIII. Both sides strove to end the awful per-
secution, but each demanded certain guarantees and con-
cessions. Indeed ten years elapsed before the odious May
Laws were completely abolished, although the more
obnoxious points were quickly rectified or moderated.
Bismarck was in a position to dictate the conditions of
peace and the Church was willing to make concessions
short of compromising its allegiance to God. He insisted
that the May Laws should not be abolished by any formal
act and that the government should take the initiative in
all measures of relief. He also demanded of the Curia
an assurance that the Centre party would support the
government's policies. As a proof of his good will Bis-
marck replaced Dr. Falk by a more moderate and con-
ciliatory minister. He obtained from the Landtag modifi-
cations of the May Laws and in 1882 Prussia established
an embassy at the Vatican. But Bismarck insisted that
the bishops make known to the government all ecclesias-
tical appointments and upheld the government's right to
veto, concessions Rome granted.
During the peace negotiations between the Church and
Prussia, papal diplomacy wrongly laid too much stress
on the purely politico-ecclesiastical elements of the prob-
lem, not sufficiently taking into account the fundamental
source of the conflicts. e., the violation of the constitutional
law of Prussia. This had been the source of grievance
against which the Centre party had struggled; yet the
Pope disregarded Windthorst's plea to anchor again the
rights of the Church in the Prussian constitution. In this
sense Rome did not seem to cooperate with the Centre but
acceded too readily to Bismarck's requests.
Through Rome Bismarck hoped to gain the Centre's
support; but though the Vatican tried to interest the
Centre to support Bismarck's purely political matters,
that party adhered to its political policies and viewed
wih suspicion Bismarck's concessions since the Pope had
not insisted on constitutional guarantees. Windthorst ob-
jected to a peace too lenient. When Bismarck realized
he could not control the Centre through Rome he dropped
negotiations but the improvement in relations continued
and in 1888 the last of the May Laws were repealed.
The final outcome of the peace negotiations provided
that parish priests could be appointed only with govern-
ment approval ; that the State should control education ;
and that the Church's rights should not have constitu-
tional guarantees. On the other hand Bismarck conceded
to the Church the control of ecclesiastical education, per-
mitted the reassertion of papal disciplinary authority over
the clergy, allowed the restoration of public worship and
the administration of the sacraments, authorized the ap-
plication of ecclesiastical censures, and suffered the re-
turn of the religious orders.
Thus ended the bold and determined effort to subjugate
the Church to the power of the State. The plan failed
completely. The Church had lost much but it had not
forsaken its loyalty to God and in being constant to Him
lies its whole power and glory.
What was merely a change in policy for Bismarck was
a welcome calm after a long and bitter, though glorious,
struggle for the suffering Catholics of Germany. The
Church was restored practically to the status it held be-
fore the Kulturkampf. The German Catholics were united
in a stronger and deeper love and loyalty to their religion.
They were roused to take a leading and influential part in
the religious, political and intellectual affairs of one of
the major racial elements and of one of the leading na-
tions of Europe, which greatly affected the future of the
German Empire and, through it, the whole world. It was
a signal triumph for the Catholic Church in the mighty
battle against the forces of atheism which might have
destroyed the Church in the nineteenth century.
THE United States has the most gullible fourth estate
in the universe. Foreign press agents can tell Ameri-
can newspapermen whatever they wish, knowing fully
well that this confidence is returned without shadow of
doubt. Propagandists of all shades and
A MISGUIDED half-baked commentators over the ether
PRESS waves and in the press have continually
pulled the wool over American eyes.
The late Spanish War clearly indicates the depth of
American gullibility. Radio commentators and foreign
correspondents informed the public that the Spanish Gov-
ernment at Madrid was fighting to maintain Spanish De-
mocracy. The Nationalists, christened "Rebels" and
"Moors," were developing a fascist dictatorship that
would destroy Spanish liberties. These rebels were finan-
ced by Rome and Berlin and supported whole divisions of
Italian troops, German aviators and technicians and more
Moors than Spanish Morocco ever had. In every engage-
ment the Africans and Italians were always present in
excessive numbers. The rebels bombed defenseless cities,
slaughtered helpless noncombatants maliciously, and kept
their firing squads working overtime. There were no
lengths beyond which the Nationalists would not go.
Truly they were instruments of the devil and worthy of
decent people's condemnation.
Some mention was made of the International Brigades,
but we were never led to conjecture that Russians, French,
Czechs, British, Americans, Canadians, even Germans
and Italians, far outnumbered the foreign volunteers in
the Nationalist armies; that if only Spaniards had been
left to fight on both sides the war would have been over
inside a year. No, that would have been heresy and would
have destroyed the delusions of the American people.
The Catholic press, which alone carried Spanish dis-
patches of atrocities and mass murders which conserva-
tives set at four hundred thousand men, women and chil-
dren, the malicious destruction of cities, churches and
works of art, the confiscation of riches, and the part Soviet
Russia played in Loyalist Spain, was feeding its people
with fabrications. The Loyalists were lily-white ; they
were striving to preserve democracy in all its splendor!
And Americans were taken in, hook, line and sinker.
Slowly the idea prevailed that, after all, the Komitern
actually controlled Loyalist Spain. But for almost two
years determined and well-financed Communist agitators
and propagandists had been able to disguise the Soviet
controlled Madrid-Barcelona government partly by the
use of a puppet premier who was eventually thrown into
the discard by the "liberty-loving" Dr. Juan Negrin and
Julio Alvarez del Vayo, who incidently are now in North
America propagating further untruths about Spain.
The Nationalist armies, whom no one told us were Span-
iards* fighting to preserve the western Christian civiliza-
tion and an independent Pyrennean nation and who were
not massacreing noncombatants, gradually wrested Spain
from the failing grasp of the pseudo-government at Mad-
rid and Valencia until finally the capital fell and the re-
maining fourth of the country not already in Nationalist
Even before the deathknell sounded there was a pell-
mell rush of mentally and morally decadent "patriots"
of the stamp of Negrin, del Vayo, La Pasionaria, Uribe
and Hernandez to flee the country but not until they had
stripped it of whatever plunder they could cart away.
Those who could not get away tried to conciliate their
conquerors by pledges of "fidelity."
Leftist Spain, which had been financed by and had
taken its orders from Moscow, collapsed, and a new Spain,
redolent of the glories of happier days, emerged; a Spain
united by common bonds of blood, thought and religion ;
a Spain that wanted political, economic and moral inde-
pendence and unity.
The friends of Red Russia, particularly in the English-
speaking countries, did not now admit frustration. No
indeed. Had not Franco demanded unconditional surren-
der? Even now he was making bloody reprisals against
those who had opposed him. Besides, he was in the act
of foisting upon unwitting Spaniards a fascist State, dom-
inated and controlled by Rome and Berlin. Woe betide the
rest of Europe with this fascist phalanx encircling the
And the American press, as usual, allowed itself to
to be hoodwinked. It spread the glad tidings and pilloried
Franco unmercifully. Atrocity stories received banner
headlines, and Spain's surrender to Hitler and Mussolini
were foregone conclusions appropriately played up by
General Franco demanded unconditional surrender. So
did Grant. Franco could conscientiously offer no other
terms. And as to reprisals he has made none, for the hun-
dreds of thousands of war prisoners are being released
to return to a useful civilian life. But there have been
those who were guilty of heinous crimes. No self-respect-
ing nation would set at liberty proven criminals. Must the
brutal murderers and torturers of a million defenseless
*Five per cent of the Nationalist armed forces were foreigners.
Spaniards be pardoned for their crimes? Justice demands
retribution be made. And precisely as our courts of jus-
tice pronounce lethal sentance upon convicted criminals
after a fair trial, so Hispanic courts of justice have sen-
tenced to death men justly and fairly convicted of in-
famous crimes perpetrated under the cloak of war.
That Franco is the puppet of Mussolini and Hitler and
has made Spain subservient to Italy and Germany are
unadulterated prevarications. Repeatedly he has asserted
that Spain must be independent of foreign influence ; that
it must live in peace and amity and maintain harmonious
trade relations with all foreign nations. If we know the
Spanish character and traditions these promises will be
kept, for no Spaniard will ever submit to alien domina-
tion. Proud of his nationality, his past glories, his religion
and his individuality a Spaniard will never take dictation
and direction from a ruler who is not of his own and
a lover of Spain and its Catholic culture.
That Spain has problems of reconstruction is obvious.
Every nation has them and each of them works out its
individual problems in its own way brooking no interfer-
ence from alien reformers. Before we meddle in the af-
fairs of other powers it would behoove us to solve the
many pressing problems at home. Let our brilliant editors
and discerning commentators confine themselves to home
problems without showing our neighbors how theirs
should be solved. Then, and only then, will we divorce
ourselves from foreign entanglements and from all possi-
bility of disastrous wars.
E. W. L.
Wars are the playthings of big business to be put to
whatever devices suits the whims of the money magnates.
Does danger threaten the enormous profits accruing out
of heavy loans and the sale on credit of the sinews of war
then the monied creditors of belligerent
WARS AND nations bring to bear pressure on their
BIG BUSINESS home governments that something be
done at once. But the investments of big
business can be protected only by armed intervention and
that, of course, means war.
An apt illustration of the infallibility of the argument
can be found in the World War. In the year 1914, Wood-
row Wilson committed the United States to a policy of
strict neutrality. Ably supporting the president's policy
was a foresighted statesman, the Secretary of State Wil-
liam Jennings Bryan, whose avowed pacificism induced
him to object to a proposed private loan to France on the
grounds that "granting loans to belligerents would be in-
consistent with the true spirit of neutrality" and that
"money is the worst of all contrabands because it com-
mands everything else."
Opposition from within and without the government
forced Bryan to surrender his portfolio the next year to
Robert Lansing who, disregarding entirely his predeces-
sor's wisdom, advised Wilson to forego his policy of strict
neutrality by permitting loans to belligerents. As a con-
sequence of this change of policy an American banking
syndicate was empowered to loan France a half billion
dollars. Thereupon the Allies borrowed and bought pro-
digiously and everybody had a job.
Two years later it happened. From London Ambassador
Page cabled that the Allies needed more money than pri-
vate capital could supply. His insistence that the United
States Government could prevent an international panic
only by advancing vast sums of money to the Allies, was
a proposal tantamount to a declaration of war upon Ger-
many. And why did Page make this demand? Solely to
maintain American predominance in world trading marts.
A month after Page's proposal the United States entered
the world conflict and the Government made loans direct-
ly to the Allies.
American intervention in that War cost the nation ele-
ven billion dollars and thousands of American lives. If it
taught nothing else it brought home to Americans the les-
son that whenever the nation's financial resources are
used to aid, for example, foreign democracies it is in-
evitable that we will be involved in war, for loans and
goods on credit to belligerents are merely the preludes
to war and armed intervention is as certain as morning
follows the night whenever these loans are endangered.
Strict neutrality can only be maintained when all assist-
ance is denied belligerents. It is the only system that will
shackle the selfish ambitions of big business.
BATHOS in the news has done much to reduce the war
hysteria over the past few months. The value of
laughter psychologists have long recognized. Try it be-
fore an examination.
Panic stricken Chicagoans viewed with alarm the hand-
iwork of an unknown Nazi adherent who climbed an
abandoned theatre and arranged an electric signboard
so that it read "Heil Hitler! Down with the Jews" . . .
In Cleveland a man complained that the press had mis-
spelled his name in a marriage license notice. Anyone
with a name like Mieczyslaws Dziadosz deserves to have
it misspelled . . . Indianapolis police raided a veterans'
post and confiscated nine slot machines and a dice device
following the complaint of one vet who had lost fifteen
hundred dollars . . . You can't beat a racket like that.
Memorial Day now vies with the Fourth of July for
casualties. For the four-day weekend of May the thirtieth
a mere three hundred and thirty-five violently passed in
their checks ... In a Pennsylvania town the executive
committee forgot to tell a Civil War vet that he was the
guest of honor in the Memorial Day parade — the parade
was marched without him . . .
The year-round playground attraction of New England
is now featured in a booklet, "Relax in New England
After the World's Fair." Is that a dig at Grover Whalen's
New York Fair? And speaking of fairs, San Francisco
and New York are out-doing each other in the cult of the
body. The directors of the fairs seem to think that no-
body will go through the turnstiles unless a bevy of under-
garbed hussies are conspicuously displayed.
The federal government has been most successful in
breaking the power of political bosses and racketeers by
the simple device of convicting them of evading income
tax returns . . . Federal judges and district attorneys used
to be above suspicion . . . But since the attorney-general
at Washington began to clean house at least one highly
respected judge, who was not above accepting "loans"
to influence his decisions, has been convicted and more
are up for trial . . . America's yanking World War draft
dodger, long a fugitive in Germany, has returned to com-
plete his sentence. Perhaps he feared he would be caught
up in the Nazi draft . . . Coincident with the rearmaments
abroad the War Department announced that seventeen
thousand young men will be admitted for training as
technicians to the expanding army air corps.
A United States Senator, enroute to a North Carolina
commencement exercise, was forced to thumb a ride in a
truck after his machine had sprung a flat. Not a dignified
entree, but effective in a pinch . . . Co-eds in South Caro-
lina stole the spotlight when they registered personality
plus and a higher self-determination that the men.
Accidents, no matter how fatal, occasionally have their
lighter sides — Three Ohio freight trains were smashed
up in an unusual wreck . . . While digging for angle
worms with a homemade electrical device an Illinois man
electrocuted himself. A break for the worms ... A Mis-
sissippi negro was scattered half a mile when twenty-six
sticks of dynamite he was carrying went off . . . Because
he mistook a dynamite cap for an odd piece of metal and
used it as a wedge in the loosened head of his sledge-
hammer, a Connecticut woodchopper landed in a hospital
little the worse for his adventure ... A Montana student
volunteered his face for an experimental smearing of
plaster paris. Complications set in when the textbooks
gave no solution for removing the plaster. Obliging hos-
pital attaches removed the plaster . . . When two Montana
blind men collided in the street, each accused the other
of not looking where he was going ... A quick-witted
truck driver saved his blazing load of gasoline by speed-
ing through downtown Kansas City traffic to whip out
the flames ... A Charleston (S. C.) carpenter tumbled off
a roof and, no ambulance around, he was rushed to the
hospital in a city dump truck. Any conveyance will do
in a pinch.
Women in the news — A plunge into San Francisco Bay
in her first airplane ride did not abate the ardor of a
California woman who promptly finished her birthday
ride in another plane . . . Women physicians are gradually
replacing the men in English institutions. The hospitals
are leaving nothing to chance, for male physicians may
be summoned for war service at any time ... A Massa-
chusetts lass put her lipstick to good use when she jotted
down on her arm the license plate of a tire thief's car. He
was caught ... A Virginia woman stung thrice presently
stopped her weed-pulling and discovered a three-foot
water moccasin about to strike again. She killed the snake
before she fainted ... A Chicagoan surrendered her right
to alimony so that her ex-mate could support his second
wife ... A woman in Oklahoma fed her five children
strychnine capsules before she slashed her throat . . .
Another Chicago woman got a divorce because her mate
celebrated their wooden anniversary by throwing a wood-
en bowl of chop suey at her. Such trivial excuses for
sundering the sacred bonds of matrimony ... A West
Palm Beach woman excused her overtime parking on the
plea that she could not find the new family car she had
parked because she had forgotten its color. No wonder
the desk sergeant revoked the summons . . . Police stopped
the moonlight peregrinations of a Massachusetts swain
who visited his lady-love via the second story window.
She said she gave him permission to enter anyway he
pleased, but the youth was fined nevertheless for dis-
turbing the peace ... A Kentucky woman with babe in
arms protected her man by shooting to death a constable
. . . Twelve women vagrants in Mobile enriched the sher-
iff's coffers to the extent of some sixty dollars in fees.
In the realm of sports — In eight medal play tourna-
ments last year Henry Picard earned two dollars and two
cents a stroke. Not bad! . . . Umpires in the big leagues
complain of the illegal use of the spitball . . . Secretary of
a Chicago bowling league absconded with a thousand
dollars in prize money that was to be given to the league's
best bowlers at the end of the season . . . An athlete in a
small Michigan college earned eleven letters in football,
track, tennis and basketball during his four years of com-
petition . . . One of two Detroit sandlot outfielders was
killed when the two collided attempting to field a drive
... In an Eastern pistol tournament a White House cop
shot thirty bull's eyes for a perfect score and a meet rec-
ord ... A coast sprinter won the last lap of his team's
440-yard relay even though he finished the race with his
sweat pants wrapped around his ankles. That's running.
The Dionne quintuplets cast formality to the winds and
made themselves wholly at ease with the English royalty
. . . And a well wisher from California sent Canada's five
young darlings a rabbit's foot on their fifth birthday . . .
Schenectady high school students spent four years build-
ing a six-inch reflector telescope that cost only fifty dol-
lars ... A six-year-old Kansas child, intrigued by the
metamorphosis of empty milk bottles to filled, replaced
the milk bottles with pop bottles and nothing happened.
Was the youngster disillusioned? . . . An airplane out of
control skidded into a shallow pool in western Pennsyl-
vania and killed one of two swimming boys. Even the old
swimming pool isn't safe from flyers' antics ... A Mil-
waukee pedagogue lists spoiled children as follows: Spot
lighters — those who bask in adults' smiles; shrinkers —
take a back seat; dingers — want their mammas; favor-
ites — must be petted; and tyrants — must rule or ruin.
Which were you?
While the rest of the country was sweltering or digging
out from rains, the temperature in Idaho was down to
twenty-three degrees June 1 . . . Rains the past month
have made most of Alabama's clay roads impassable . . .
Clay roads, eh! Well, the college's roads will be paved
this summer, so Washington informs.
An Illinois village has decreed that bees may not fly at
large through the village if owned by anyone. That's a
large order for the constable to decide whose bees are
buzzing . . . Sixty racing pigeons were killed in Chicago
when thieves abandoned and burned a stolen car against
the pigeon shed . . . Peace officers in South Dakota hope
to stop cattle rustling by stopping all cars that haul live-
stock . . . Three hundred Leghorns laid some 276,000 eggs
to finance an Ohio State University student's four year
course . . . Four angry robins pecked away at a cat in
northern New York until the feline released the baby
robin it seized and dashed to safety . . . Three bear cubs
in Yellowstone Park performed for the royal princes of
Norway by boxing and wrestling ... A Montana house-
wife saved all but one of her seventeen young chicks by
opening their crops and extracting from one to seven
roofing tacks in each . . . California takes first rank in
the output of turkeys. California's birds were worth more
than eight million dollars in 1938 . . . Sheriff's deputies
raided a still in Alabama and seized two oxen that were
used to haul wood and whisky . . . An old city work
horse in Delaware, retired to a farm a few weeks before
after twenty years' service, escaped and returned to cover
his old trash wagon route. One day of this and he was
dead. It's hard, even for a horse, to break the habits of
a lifetime ... A Georgian farmer had a grand haul when
he cut down a giant oak. The tree yielded three eight-
pound opossums, five fat squirrels, a swarm of bees, twen-
ty pounds of honey and two cords of wood . . . Two North
Carolina bird dogs, bereft of their young, mothered five
fox puppies. But Mother Fox finally located her young
and tried to recover them but failed when she broke into
the wrong room . . . Housewives in a small Nebraska vil-
lage are wringing their hands in exasperation. One has
been startled by a large jackrabbit bounding up her base-
ment stairs; another has black widow spiders residing in
a bookcase; a third discovered a salamander in the cellar;
and a fourth found a garter snake atop her linen closet.
A foreign flavor tinges the news — Finland, the only na-
tion that is completing its war debts to the United States,
paid its most recent installment while England's royal
pair were being feted in New York ... A mixed commis-
sion of Frenchmen, Englishmen, Egyptians and a Dutch-
man govern the Suez Canal. Italy, basing its claims to
three pseudo-Italian builders of the Canal, was refused a
place on the board . . . Germany has instituted a system
for beautifying its highways. Fruit trees are now planted
along the roadways. In addition the fruit is harvested at
the purchaser's expense and sold at auction, so that the
trees have a utilitarian value . . . Pope Pius XII emptied
Vatican City gaol by releasing its only prisoner, a former
Vatican library bookkeeper who was convicted of em-
bezzlement . . . Santiago (Chile) students, angered over
a bill to grant amnesty to former officials charged with
killing sixty-five students in a revolution last year, laid
down a heavy barrage of bricks, glass and vegetables and
smashed windows in the senatorial chambers. Nice peo-
ple . . . Buenos Aires faces a traffic predicament — A new
law fines or gaols jaywalkers or gutter-walkers. The dif-
ficulty lies in the fact that vehicular traffic is kept to the
left and pedestrians are expected to keep to the right so
that they will face oncoming vehicles . . . Australia will
soon be a self-sufficient unit for airplane manufacturies
since rich deposits of aluminum and magnesium alloys are
available in Tasmania, with nickel deposits coming from
Canada . . . The British Navy is placing at the disposal of
all surface vessels film projectors in order that the men
of the fleet may for three cents a week attend the cinemas
at sea . . . Germany, faced by a scarcity of food supplies
and war materials, is practically on a wartime basis.
Great supplies of foodstuffs are being canned and essen-
tial war commodities are being stored for future use in
the event of war. As a result German housewives feel the
pinch and pay steep prices for food . . . German house-
wives, limited to few if any oranges over the past few
months, were surprised in Berlin when big crates of Span-
ish oranges began to make their appearance. They were
told that Franco was paying off part of the Spanish war
debt in oranges . . . Most plentiful of the German vege-
tables are potatoes and spinach. Sauerkraut, butter, lard
and fat are hard to get. Less than six ounces of butter are
allowed per person ... In Johannesburg South African
descendants of the Huguenots have grown beards to cele-
brate the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of their
ancestors' arrival in South Africa.
The Peruvian government has adopted as a state ward
the five-year-old Indian girl who gave birth to an infant
son . . . The Czecho-Slovakian minister at Washington
has refused to haul down the white, red and blue flag
of his nonexistent country because he does not recognize
the legality of Hitler's coup . . . The King and Queen of
Canada were roughing it in a hundred and twenty-five
dollar a day cabin on Lac Beauvert (Alberta), guarded
by Royal Canadian mounted police ... At Calgary the
royal pair were entertained by whooping Indians, cow-
boys and cowgirls and the skirl of bagpipes as a hundred
thousand lined the sidewalks ... At Sudbury (Ontario)
the royal party descended twenty-eight hundred feet into
the bowels of a nickel mine . . . One of the O'Sullivans
who fought in the Irish Republican army against the
British was appointed to guard England's royal couple
during their Washington stay. Ironic, isn't it?
The police blotters are covered with them — A
truck driver in Michigan did not know hijackers were
relieving his moving truck of cigars and cigarettes until
a state police car arrested the theives and pulled along-
side him . . . One of two gunmen cracked a Fall River man
over the head after they robbed him of his lunch . . . Un-
known thieves staged the first robbery at the New York
World's Fair by stealing almost two thousand bottles of
fine wines and cognacs ... A Cincinnati judge had his
court in a hospital ward and sentenced a bedridden in-
mate to ten to twenty-five years for violating probation on
a robbery charge ... A traffic officer's booth disappeared
from a Boston street ... A Georgia negro, fleeing from a
murder scene, went to Atlanta and accidently hopped a
second freight that returned him to the scene of the mur-
der and arrest . . . Behind a two-years' growth of whiskers
a Nevada detective thought he recognized a fugitive from
justice. A tonsorial operation proved him right and the
prisoner was shJpped to California to stand trial for a
series of hold-ups.
A school girl's sudden threat to kill a Pennsylvania
State trooper led to her sudden demise when the trooper
poured five bullets into her body. The youngster had
levelled a toy pistol at the policeman . . . Arguing over a
will a Minnesota farmer, exasperated, settled the dispute
by shooting and killing his father, mother and brother . . .
An Arizona youth, afraid that his relatives would report
his smuggling activities, smoked narcotic cigarettes until
his courage was revived whence he slew his brother and
a cousin and wounded another before he blew out his
brains. A third cousin gained a reprieve by praying for
herself ... A Montana man went berserk during a drunk-
en spree, killing two police officers and wounding a pedes-
trian before he was taken and held in the state peniten-
tiary to avoid mob violence.
A former World War flier, now a prisoner in California,
has invented a noiseless propeller in which the Army is
interested ... A police order permitting World War vet-
erans in a Pennsylvania city police department to wear
their army citations on their uniforms inspired a young
policeman to decorate his uniform with medals won in
athletic competition ... To convince the staid citizens of
a Nebraska town that they needed a new escape-proof
gaol, the sheriff gave permission to three inmates to break
out of gaol. So easily was it done that the county will
soon receive a new prison . . . He pulled a fast one — A
stranger entered a Hartford (Conn.) tailor's shop and
asked to use the washroom. After his departure the tailor
found he had gotten away with a twenty-five dollar suit
under his own.
SPRING HILL COLLEGE